Radio
by MidnightBlast
Summary: When the team arrives at the Xavier estate for training, Charles finds the mansion filled with music at Raven's hand-most of it placing him under direct scrutiny of the metal-manipulator. Not that he minds really. XMFC Charles/Erik.
1. Marvin Clark

**Hello Everyone—this is a new way for me to write a story: find 10 songs & write ten little snapshots. All of these songs are from the 1960's. Not all were released by 1962, but my 60's music collection isn't so specific, and these were the first 10 songs that played on 'shuffle'. I would totally recommend looking these songs up on youtube as you read (it's fun ambiance). Some fit the mood the whole way through, others just start the snapshot. **

**What lies herein mostly matches the XMFC film events. The only two disconnects are the length of time they were training at the mansion, and the CIA's view initially with respect to mutants. Hopefully these items aren't too glaring. The point of all this is to have fun (as much as can be had with a serious guy like Erik), and build on the Charles/Erik relationship. **

**Thanks for stopping by & I hope you enjoy! **

**Bold = song lyrics  
><strong>_Italics = thoughts from/in Charles' mind_

**Notes for this chapter:  
>1. There's a slight reference to one of the deleted scenes from the XMFC Blu-Ray about Charles trying to hook up with Moira at the off-site CIA facility.<br>2. Link to Moira's dress for part 2 of this chapter: **http:/www_dressingvintage_com/vintage-womens/dresses-and-suits/formal-occasion/3105-px-PAB%20Aqua% (replace "_" with ".")

xxx

**Chapter 1: Marvin Clark **

Quiet. Charles had forgotten just how quiet the mansion was. He blamed the overwhelming sounds of Harvard and Oxford for blurring his memory. Nothing like being assaulted by thousands of unguarded thoughts all in one central location to make one truly understand the value of quiet. But not even a week after resuming residence at his family estate, the quiet he had known from his youth was rapidly becoming a thing of the past.

At first, it had just been one or two little black, transistor-filled boxes chirping out the latest rock'n roll tunes. But others had quickly latched onto Raven's notion that the mansion needed a youthful zing and breath of life. Now it seemed there wasn't a room Charles could escape to—save his private quarters—where there wasn't music in the air.

Raven had never been a fan of the quiet mansion. She called it eerie; said it reminded her of the years she spent alone, stealing food to survive. Of the time before she met Charles. When they had been children, there was little they could do to remedy the situation in the world of adults. But now that they were back, Raven wasn't going to waste a minute to do all in her power to change the reserved, stuffy feel of the mansion.

He didn't mind it honestly. True silence had always been hard to come by as a telepath. He just wished it didn't place him under such scrutiny of the metal-manipulator. But if he'd ever actually paid attention, he might just realize how perfectly it framed his life.

xxx

**Because – Dave Clark Five**

Man had orbited the Earth. It was a truly fascinating thought. What a sight it must have been—three whole orbits around the planet, three sunsets and sunrises in one day. And to hear the astronaut, John Glenn, speak, the man was calmer than ever. The faith and confidence he placed in his fellow teammates and the engineers at the controls was palpable in his every word.

Charles debated the wisdom of trying to draw parallels to it during their training and team-building exercises. This group had a long way to go towards being a cohesive unit, starting first and foremost with everyone accepting and controlling their own abilities. Charles had no doubt they would get there, but it wouldn't be an easy road.

He turned the newspaper page, reaching for his scotch on the nearby table as he continued reading. It was mostly repeat information at this point. NASA wasn't willing to give away too many details in their race with the Russians. Granted, this feat by Glenn seemed to bring about the end of race in Charles' mind.

**Its right that I should care about you  
>And try to make you happy when you're blue<br>Its right, its right, to feel the way I do  
>Because, because I love you<strong>

He hadn't bothered to turn the radio off when he entered the library. If he had to, he'd lay his money on Sean for going off and leaving it on. Not that he minded too much. He figured Erik would turn it off when he joined him. Music wasn't exactly the most conducive environment for a chess game. Charles reached again for his highball, hearing solid approaching footsteps.

"You look too comfortable to disturb," Erik commented casually, observing his friend ensconced in a cushy, wingback armchair, one leg crossed over the other, perusing the paper.

"Just let me finish this…you know, it's amazing these things they're doing down in Florida." Charles' eyes stayed fixed to the paper.

"What? With sending men into space?" Erik asked as he walked more into the room. "Are things on this planet really so bleak that we're looking for escape?"

"You have an understandable right to be biased, but there is so much more to space exploration than just escaping Earth-bound problems."

"Spare me, Charles. Please." Erik's eyes landed on the highball next to Charles. "What's your scotch tonight?"

"Macallan."

**Give me one kiss  
>And I'll be happy<br>Just, just to be here with you**

"Aren't you going to offer me some, Charles? It's bad manners to exclude your guests."

"If you didn't like the Glenfidditch, then you won't like this." Charles simply answered, glancing up from the paper momentarily to see the small smirk lurking in the corners of Erik's mouth.

"Is it better than the Glenfidditch?" Erik simply asked.

"Mmm, considerably," Charles purred, "that's why it just won't do to waste it." A playful, smug smile crossed Charles' handsome face.

"Such a gracious host." Erik shook his head, watching as Charles brought the glass to his lips for a quick sip. Erik's hand moved at his side, focusing on the signet ring on Charles' right hand ring finger. Charles felt his hand freeze in mid-air, eyes settling to the offending item as he tried to break free from Erik's hold. He leveled Erik with an annoyed glare in his bright, blue eyes.

_Erik, release my hand._

_Use your words, Charles._ Erik smirked, not minding the telepath's temporary invasion given the situation.

_I am._

_No, you're using your thoughts._

"Oh for god's sake," Charles grumbled, "Erik, please release my ring."

"Consider this punishment for your stinginess."

"I could just make you let go of my hand." He fought back a disbelieving laugh, knowing Charles would be better the man, and take the high road.

"We both know you're better than that." Erik respectfully countered, crossing the room to stand next to Charles' chair. Charles sat patiently, not backing down as Erik bent to wrap a hand around the base of the suspended glass .Stormy gray met electric blue as the metal-manipulator raised Charles' glass, still in Charles' hand, to his lips for a taste.

**Because, because I love you**

"Mmm, that is considerably better," Erik conceded with a small nod, "but still not my favorite." His nose wrinkled in a flash of disgust as he quickly righted and released Charles' hand. Charles starred after Erik with a pursed lip smile, his gaze slowly lowering to the highball, studying the imprint left behind by Erik's lips.

"Am I to be held hostage every time you want something I have?" Charles asked absently, returning the highball to the table and folding the paper.

"What else do you have that I want?" Erik shot Charles a sly glance from the across the room as he filled a martini shaker. The telepath considered his words as he swirled the amber liquid around the glass, making moves to rise.

"That, my friend, I couldn't possibly begin to answer." A low chuckle sounded across the room, accented by the sound of ice and liquid sloshing against the shaker. Charles blew a light sigh before rising, spying the martini shaker levitating near Erik's side, the top lifting off before it titled and poured the man's drink. "Nice trick," Charles commented with a quick nod to the still levitating shaker, "bet that wins you one over more often than not."

"I don't find myself entertaining often enough for it to come up." Erik casually answered, as though any reference to his past was a trivial matter. He let the shaker return to the tray and picked up the martini glass, threading his way over to Charles and the waiting chessboard."I would imagine your ability to read minds put you in good favor with many a coed over the years." Charles felt an unbidden flush rise in his cheeks.

"For the simple things—favorite drinks, knowing my chances—but never for the important things." Charles admitted, sitting down and setting up pieces on the board.

"'Never for the important things,'" Erik echoed with a dismissive shake, "Charles, you could have anyone you wanted."

"Whenever I enter a lady's good graces, I prefer do so unencumbered by false impressions." Erik's eyebrows raised suggestively, an amused smile coming to his face.

"Is that really what you call it?" Annoyance furrowed Charles' brow as he bit his lip, regarding Erik with a reluctant smile.

"I prefer to remain a gentleman—"

"We both know that's a lie." Charles met Erik's roguish grin.

**Because, because I love you**

"Erik, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." Charles raised his highball in a toast, matched by Erik tipping his glass, eyes locked over the chessboard.

xxx

**Heard it through the Grapevine – Marvin Gaye**

Charles always preferred a well-cut suit to a tuxedo. It bespoke more sophisticated intelligence than the flash of a dinner suit, but he had no choice this evening. A black tie affair with top government brass was hardly the time to shirk the dress code. Even though it wasn't his favorite, the tux he owned fit him expertly and he knew he cut a dashing figure in the mirror. He was never one to let such details about his appearance go overlooked. He blamed his mother for that—always fussing over his look, and demanding the highest quality clothing, never mind his age.

The long hallway was deserted as he opened the heavy wood door from the library, hoping to escape to the foyer without the prying eyes of Sean or Alex, ribbing him for being all dressed up. The warmth from the pre-party cocktail had loosened his nerves about the evening, leaving him to hope Moira wouldn't say too much about them all. Absently he reached for his shirt cuffs, straightening them out under his suit jacket and checking the cufflinks, hearing the faint music up the hallway.

**Ooh, I bet you're wondering how I knew  
>About your plans to make be blue<br>With some other guy you knew before.  
>Between the two of us guys<br>You know I love you more.**

"I'd let him fuck me. I don't care how much older he is than me," Charles stopped at the voice coming from the foyer, "it'll be hard to just stay on his arm tonight imagining how he'll look all dressed up." Charles' eyes widened on Raven's words. She couldn't possibly be talking about Erik, could she?

"There's something about him I still don't trust," Moira's voice joined the conversation, "you and Charles sure seem to, but I don't know…he just seems dangerous."

"Mmmm, only adds to his appeal." Raven purred as Charles worked to swallow the sudden hard lump in his throat, feeling a blush rise to his cheeks. He couldn't believe he was actually overhearing his sister voicing her desire for his good friend.

**I heard it through the grapevine  
>Not much longer would you be mine. <strong>

"Well what about you and Charles?" Raven continued, "I've seen the way he looks at you." A small embarrassed laugh issued from the agent.

"He has…propositioned me, yes," Moira started with a giggle, "but I turned him down. However, given how I imagine he will look tonight…it will be hard not to go to bed with him."

"It will do you both good. There's no better way to relax than being pleasured by someone you want."

Charles couldn't believe what he was overhearing. Was that really his Raven? True, he wanted Moira, yes. She was smart, beautiful, tenacious. And true, his stunt back at the offsite CIA facility was a little arrogant, but he couldn't bring himself to entirely regret it. It was more relieving to know now that he actually stood a chance. But what about Raven? Surely she wasn't serious about going for Erik, was she?

"Good evening, ladies." The smooth voice of the metal-manipulator sounded in the foyer, as he was obviously coming downstairs in time to leave for the evening.

"Good evening, Erik." The flirtatious note in Raven's voice didn't go unnoticed to Charles, who gave his cuff one last adjustment before composing his face and continuing on.

"My dears, you look positively exquisite." Erik's eyes drifted appreciatively over Raven and Moira's evening gown clad forms just in time for Charles to round the corner.

"And you're ever the charmer." Charles quipped back, watching three pairs of eyes settle to him.

_Oooo, hello professor…_ Moira's lips pursed ever so discreetly in a silent appreciative whistle as her unbidden thought assaulted him.

"Who would have guessed that you wear a tuxedo as well as the rest of your suits?" Raven said uninterestedly, not given Charles a second glance.

"I rather feel like a fish out of water, dressed this nice." Charles confessed.

"You can spare us the modesty," Erik's eyes locked to his, "you look perfectly comfortable in your monkey suit." Charles let his eyes quickly rake over Erik's tuxedo clad form, impressed to find it so well tailored to the man's wiry, though muscular frame, noting the surprisingly casual ease with which he sported it.

"That makes two of us I'd say."

"Unlike you, Charles, I never claimed to be out of my element." Charles felt the tips of his ears redden under Erik's scrutiny, knowing the man's words were an outright lie. Charles didn't doubt Erik could assume any role or persona he wanted in his hunt for vengeance, but nothing in his past bespoke familiarity with the refinements of luxury.

"Enough with the flirting," Moira interrupted, as if annoyed "or Raven and I will go together, and force you two to be each other's dates." Erik's eyes widened in surprise, turning to Moira with a mischievous smile.

"Now where's the fun in that? I was hoping for a goodnight kiss, and I seriously doubt Charles would put out."

"That's for you to work out with him." Moira fired back unconcerned, adjusting her silver and aqua brocade bolero, as Charles stood stunned, hating the increased reddening of his ears. He could sense Raven's awkwardness in the situation, debating whether to back down for her sake or rise to Erik's challenge.

"Well Erik, I confess my feelings hurt," Charles' voice held a smooth edge of nonchalance as Erik turned a questioning smile back to him, "I thought you knew me well enough as your friend." Before he could second guess himself, he stepped forward to close the gap, briefly pressing his lips to the taller man's, before stepping back with a proud smirk. The startled look on Erik's face was priceless, as were the sheer shock on Raven and Moira's face.

_Is Charles even interested in me anymore? Or someone else…?_

**Oh I heard it through the grapevine,  
>Oh and I'm just about to lose my mind.<br>Honey, honey, yeah.**

Without another word, Charles turned to Moira, smirk in place—proud of himself not backing down and taking the straight-laced role—and extended his arm.

"Shall we, my dear?" An amused, if still surprised smile, came to Moira's face as she stepped forward to take Charles' arm.

"What was that Charles?" She asked quietly, hearing Erik and Raven converse a few steps behind. "And to think I was hoping for a goodnight kiss."

"If he's gutsy enough to call me a prude when he has no frame of reference, then I take it upon myself to set the record straight." Charles simply answered, casting her a sly glance with his bright eyes. "You should know better yourself."

"So you two...," Moira laughed softly, embarrassed, her cheeks flushing an adorable color, lines of relief seeping into her smile.

"No, we're not. I can assure you there's only one person I have my eyes on." Moira snapped her gaze back to his as they exited into the crisp night air. "Your dress is absolutely stunning by the way. Such an appropriate color." Her eyes dropped to her dress, as if to confirm his assessment.

"Such a compliment coming from the man whose eyes inspired its selection." Moira confessed, her voice surprisingly calm and confident, despite her flushed, moonstruck appearance. Even though it seemed silly to actually confess that was the reason she chose the bright blue chiffon over silver silk skirted, empire-waist, metallic embroidered bodice and matching bolero, the dress was just too gorgeous to pass up.

"I already knew that, and I'm incredibly flattered, truly." He sent her a completely disarming smile, his eyes shining with genuine honesty. Moira shook her head with a gentle laugh as he reached for the door of the waiting limousine.

"You are too charming, Mr. Xavier. And that makes you dangerous." Moira said playfully as she took his hand to slide in.

"You have no idea." She dropped into the vehicle with a laugh as he turned his attention back to Erik and Raven, who shot him a pointed glare and a sharp mind bullet that he couldn't miss.

_Careful, Charles. Mixing work and pleasure can often be troublesome. _

_You're no better. I know you want him, Raven._

_Who are you to judge me, Charles? _

_Not judge, just recommend against._

_I can make my own decisions. You don't always need to protect me._

_Old habits die hard. Just be careful._

"Am I intruding on your conversation?" Erik suddenly asked, looking between Charles and Raven as if offended.

"Not in the slightest," Raven turned to him with a placating, alluring smile, "I was just telling Charles to use protection." Charles' face set in embarrassed, if still amused, lines as Raven took his hand, sliding into the limo, leaving the two men in silence. Erik followed, pausing at the limo door to glance down at Charles with a curious, enigmatic little smirk.

"I never knew you were such an insufferable flirt, Charles Xavier." The taller man winked wickedly with a smile, dropping easily into the limo, forcing a wide, near embarrassed smile across Charles' face before he moved to join the rest of his friends.

xxx

**Love it? Hate it? Meh? Suggestions? Continue? I'd love to hear from you! Thanks again! Stay tuned...  
><strong>


	2. Robbins Association

**EWW – Sorry to hear Moira offends you so. I don't believe she makes an appearance in the rest of the story, if that helps. **

**Kahenia – Thank you so much for the warm words! I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying it! I have made a concerted effort to keep these two as close to what was presented in the film. There will most certainly be more from them, and hopefully it doesn't disappoint! **

**And thank you to all who alerted/added-to-favorite for this story! I hope you all continue to enjoy! **

**Notes for this chapter:  
>1. Hopefully Sean's not to OOC…I think he could have it in him based on what I saw. <strong>

**Warnings: language **

**Thanks & Hope you enjoy!**

xxx

**Chapter 2: Robbins Association **

**El Paso – Marty Robbins **

"Don't do that." Alex smiled, undeterred, again jabbing Sean in the arm. "Alex, quit. I'm bruised from falling out that stupid window," Sean sighed, frustrated, "how many more times will I have to fall before I get it right? Maybe Professor X is wrong…."

"No, he isn't," Hank countered, supportively, "you're not built to fly. It will take some getting used to, but you'll get it eventually."

"You should've asked Angel for notes." Alex joked, earning a glare from Raven.

"Don't be mean, Alex," Raven turned to Sean with a smile, "keep your chin up. Charles wouldn't push you if he didn't absolutely believe in you."

"If only I did have real wings…," Sean mumbled, shaking his head, wishing not for the first time that he had a different mutation, or better yet, none at all.

"There's nothing wrong with the wings you have," Hank defended, "they're real enough, if not physically apart of your body. And with your mutation, it isn't just about the wings; it's the sound waves that allow them to work."

"So you're saying I don't try hard enough? If it's a 'combination' and there's nothing wrong with the wings I have?" Sean cast Hank a near murderous glare, face hardening.

"That's not what I said."

"That's what it sounded like to me."

X

Charles' eyes shot open, looking around the room sleepily. He didn't even realize he had dozed off reading. Perhaps too much warmth from the fire? Or exhaustion from a day of running and dodging death in the bomb shelter? He would've thought more on it, if not for intense waves of hotheaded animosity bombarding his mind. Surely it wasn't coming from the kids in the house? He rose from the chair, abandoning the warmth of his private study for the noticeable chill of the hallway. So maybe the room was a little too warm.

He focused his mind on the strong feelings assaulting him, spying the lights down the hall still on. Hadn't everyone gone to bed by now? His walk quickened to a run as raised voices reached his ears, accented with the shattering of porcelain on the hardwood floor. He rounded the corner of the library, unable to believe the sight before him.

"Sean, stop it!" Raven pleaded, her eyes wide, panicked. "Leave him alone!" Hank lay on the floor surrounded by pieces of a shattered vase, his glasses across the hardwood floor, face red from impact.

"He deserved it!" Sean retorted, lunging for Hank again, despite Alex's attempts to hold him back.

"Don't, Sean!" Alex struggled to contain the redhead as Raven moved over to Hank's side, returning his glasses.

"Hey!" Charles called out over the others, his face set in angry, disapproving lines. "What _are_ you doing?" The room immediately fell silent, leaving only the radio playing happily in the background.

**One night a wild young cowboy came in,  
>Wild as the West Texas wind.<br>Dashing and daring,  
>A drink he was sharing<br>With wicked Felina,  
>The girl that I loved.<strong>

"I _said_," Charles repeated, his voice stern, eyes darting between all offending parties, "what are you doing?"

"I, uh…Hank said that…" Sean stumbled on his words, his fist unclenching, "I, um, was trying—"

"Just stop, Sean," Charles cut him off, stepping more into the room, "we're all going to have bad days, we're all going to be touchy. But we're a team, alright? We support each other. We're all going to get frustrated, and you have to learn to deal with it. And not by throwing fists at one another. Understood?" A low murmur went up in the room as everyone tried to avoid eye contact with him. "Alright, now off to bed. All of you."

"Professor, I'm-I'm sorry…I didn't really—"

"Thank you, Hank." Charles cut him off with a sharp words matched in his glare as the young man passed, his head low. Alex followed, as Sean threaded by next, looking thoroughly guilty, slowing to a stop, biting his lip nervously.

"Am—I'm not in trouble….am I?" His voice was small, hesitant. "We—I broke your vase."

"No Sean, you're not in trouble," Charles' tone softened to a small degree, "just promise me you won't let this happen again. We'll find a better way to vent your frustration." Sean nodded uncertainly before shuffling off, leaving Charles to stare at Raven who stood firmly with her arms crossed, hips cocked to one side defiantly. "You too, Raven. To bed, now."

"I was trying to stop them, Charles. You can't scold me like those others," Raven said, her voice confident.

"You were here, Raven. For all I know you instigated," Raven opened her mouth to protest, "I can't afford to treat you any differently. All four of you were here, and all four of you are being punished. Rather mildly, if I do say so."

"Charles, you can't—"

"Don't test me, Raven." He stared her down, almost daring her to question him right now. "It's late, I'm rather tired and I have a mess to clean up, no thanks to you lot. Go." Raven's eyes burned in unvoiced anger and frustration yet she knew better then to press her luck. She brushed past Charles with one last indignant glare, moving for the hallway. The low murmur of an accented, baritone voice suddenly mingled with Raven's in the hallway, just barely audible over the radio, their words indistinguishable.

**Back in El Paso my life would be worthless.  
>Everything's gone in life; nothing is left.<br>It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden  
>My love is stronger than my fear of death.<strong>

There were moments, few and far between however, that he wished he hadn't promised to not read Raven's mind. He would love to know what was being said between the two. He forced himself to focus instead on the shattered vase, moving more into the room to inspect the remains.

A grimace crinkled his face as he gazed down at the pieces of the Qianlong vase. It had been something his mother was immensely proud of. She hadn't told him much about the Japanese Qianlong Dynasty era, except that the vase was a very rare artifact. She fought with the dealer over the price for months, but she finally settled, proclaiming to Charles 'we live once, my son'. At the time, Charles didn't understand it for more than what it was—just a ceramic pot to sit around and something else not to touch. But as he looked at the scattered pieces, he felt the first pangs of real longing for his mother that he had felt in years.

"Don't you think you were a bit harsh on them?" Erik's voice filtered into the room as he entered.

"Certainly not," Charles shot back, "they were behaving like children, so they were sent to bed like children."

"Glad to see you recognize they aren't children most of the time." Erik conceded as he rounded the nearest piece of furniture, watching Charles survey the damage. "Hopefully that wasn't worth too much."

"What did you say to her, Erik?" Charles asked, not paying Erik's earlier comment any mind. "Ever since I pulled you out of the ocean, Raven's been acting differently."

"You're holding her back, and I'm helping her see all that she could be."

"Stop sewing those seeds of discontent, my friend."

"But she's not content," Erik returned, his gaze zeroing in on Charles', "do you honestly not see that?"

"I never claimed she was content, but neither have I been actively trying to convince her of her own grandeur either."

"To each their own." Erik's words ended with a terse smile as Charles turned from the older man, squatting down to start picking up the vase pieces.

"We have to do something," Charles started, his tone firm, "they need some kind of outlet. Frustrations can't be left to run unchecked for too long…or something like this happens."

"What would you suggest? Having them fuck out their frustrations with each other rather than fight against each other?" Charles turned up to face Erik, distaste written all over his face. Erik couldn't help his smirk at Charles' reaction.

"That is not what I meant. I was thinking more along the lines of a punching bag," Charles turned from Erik back to picking up pieces from the floor, "that way if they feel compelled to fight they won't risk hurting each other or anything else in this house." Erik looked across the room, glancing at the clock on the mantle, not interested in hearing anymore of Charles' grand plans.

"We should heed your earlier scolding and go to bed ourselves," Erik commented, watching as Charles made no move to get up, collecting jagged fragments in his hand, "that can wait until morning."

"No, it can't." Erik's brow furrowed under the telepath's terse response.

"Surely you're not so upset over the vase…?"

"It was my mother's," Charles simply answered, his voice oddly neutral, "she found such joy in the simple beauty of it. To just leave it here is a complete disservice to her memory, and I won't do that to her. The last few years of her life were so unhappy after the death of my father, and I can't let something she was so fond of be treated like garbage." Erik thought he heard a catch on Charles' voice, but couldn't be sure. "I'm sure you understand the general concept."

"More than you know." Erik's voice was soft in the space, even reverent. For eighteen years, the memory of his mother—what little he possessed—had remained dishonored and unavenged. Closure for himself may not be an option in the wake of Shaw's death, but he could surely bring justice to his mother for her needless murder.

"You can go onto bed if you like. I shouldn't be too much longer here." Erik closed the remaining space between them, squatting down beside Charles, reaching out to help collect the offending pieces from the floor. Charles' eyes fixed to the fellow mutant, disbelief in their crystalline depths. "You don't have to help me."

"You're helping me, so why shouldn't I—"

"I will not help you kill Shaw." Charles' voice left no room for question, Erik's gaze equally unyielding.

"Then don't try to stop me."

"What good will come from killing the man, when he could just as equally rot behind bars for the rest of his life?"

"You said it yourself, Charles. 'To just leave it is a disservice to her memory.' He killed my mother, and made me the monster I am today. There's no other way for it to end." Sadness crept to the lines of Charles' face, softening his eyes.

"You're not a monster, my friend. Shaw didn't turn you into anything you weren't already capable of," Charles' voice was soft, gentle between them. "The line between good and evil cuts through every human heart. Who's to say you can't change sides?" Charles' eyes fell from Erik's to rest on the largest remaining piece of the vase. The yellow background was still bright against the decorative blue and red accents, the curve of the neck still defined where it should have connected to the body. Charles reached a hand out, absently running his thumb reverently over the cool porcelain.

Erik's hand suddenly covered his over the piece, brushing Charles' hand back before picking it up. Slowly Erik rose to his full height, left hand full of vase remains, as he studied the large piece in his right. Charles scanned the floor with a sad sigh, deciding he had picked up most of the big pieces. The remaining dust and chips could wait for a vacuuming in the morning without adding guilt.

At length, Charles stood up, watching Erik gently place the curved vase piece on the pedestal from which it had fallen. Even though it was a mere fraction of what it had been before, Charles couldn't help the swell of happiness at seeing it returned to its place.

"You're fortunate to have such a memory of your mother," Erik's tone was reverent, almost jealous, "not all of us are." He turned to face the telepath, eyes heavy, watching the man move to speak. "Good night, Charles." He quickly turned and threaded his way out of the room, hand still full of vase pieces, not wanting to hear anything else from the man tonight.

Charles watched after him, almost regretting not calling out after him. He knew that Erik couldn't be more wrong, that Erik possessed memories long since buried and forgotten in the name of staving off pain. His eyes fell to the bright colored pieces in his hand, loosely clenching a fist around them in a promise to himself, his mother and Erik's mother.

_I will help him find serenity through the rage. He will be capable of immense things once he realizes through all the hatred that he is still capable of love. _

xxx

Never My Love – The Association

Charles flipped the switch, squinting into the wine cellar. Apparently housekeeping hadn't bothered to keep this room clean. Thick layers of dust rested atop the bottles stacked high in the shelves and cobwebs lined the cedar rafters. His stepfather, self-serving bastard that he was, had impeccable taste in wine and spent a vast fortune—some his own, most from Charles' mother—building and stocking a rather renowned wine cellar.

Charles himself didn't claim to be much of a wine aficionado really. He much preferred a good scotch to a fine merlot, but wine did have its place. He started down the stairs, reaching out to brush the errant cobweb away to keep it off his cardigan, the faint strains of music following him down.

**You wonder if this heart of mine  
>Will lose its desire for you<br>Never my love **

The beef stroganoff that had been simmering in the kitchen all day, filling the house with heavenly, homely smells, most certainly deserved something big—a merlot or a zinfandel. He stopped at the first row of bottles, picking one up to better read the label. Hopefully Kurt had some mind to logically organize things down here. A low, appreciative whistle sounded in the space, bringing a warm smile to Charles' face.

"You do keep the key to this room hidden, don't you," came the low, accented drawl. "I know several unscrupulous teens who would love to ransack this place."

"And you wouldn't?" Charles countered, casting a quick glance up to his friend, noting the ease with which his turtle-neck clad form leaned against the cellar doorframe atop the landing.

"I wouldn't need a key." The corner of Erik's lips lifted in a wicked smirk as he righted and started down the stairs.

"Perhaps I'll have to change to more rudimentary lock, then." Charles commented absently, setting the rose wine back on the shelf and moving farther down the line. "Plastic or the like. Though I do have to wonder," he paused to blow dust off the nearest column of wine, "what you would be like drunk out of your mind."

"Depressing, if I had to guess." Erik answered absently as he rounded the shelf, nearing Charles, eyes scanning over the seemingly endless stacks of wine. "Would this be your father's then?"

"Stepfather's." Came the curt response as Charles replaced the current bottle he held, reaching for another.

"You're sure he didn't die from complications related to alcoholism with a collection like this?" Erik commented absently, an offhand attempt at humor.

"No. That would be my mother." Charles' voice betrayed no hint of emotion, startling Erik as he leveled the telepath with a surprised, curious look. As if feeling the metal-manipulator's eyes, Charles turned from the wine label to his friend, not expecting to find hints of regret showing through the surprise in Erik's eyes.

"Your surprise is understandable," Charles started softly, "I can see how it's easy to image my childhood here was all sunshine and roses. But I can assure you it wasn't."

"You hide it well," a note of hidden jealousy sounded on Erik's words, "you don't give off the vibe of a man who came from a broken home."

"The scars are hidden."

"Don't talk to me about scars." Erik snapped, his face hardening. Sure Charles may have had problems growing up—especially from what he revealed about his mother—but he should know better than to compare it to the markings attesting to Erik's inhumane past.

Wordlessly, Charles replaced the bottle of wine, and closed the space between them, undoing the highest closed button of his dress shirt. He let his eyes lock to Erik's as he pulled his shirt front back, revealing a long, jagged scar that ran in line with his collarbone and across his shoulder to disappear under the shirt fabric. Erik's brow creased concernedly as he took in the white mark, as though he almost couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"How did that happen?" Erik asked at last, his voice softer in their close proximity.

"I fell through a glass table at the hands of my older stepbrother. More accurately, I was pushed into the glass table before falling through."

"You weren't just pushed Charles. Glass doesn't give that easily."

"When you live in that kind of pain and fear of someone, you say and do what you have to, as I know you well know."

"You don't deserve treatment like that," Erik said almost protectively, raising a hand to let his thumb lightly graze the scar that shouldn't grace such fair skin, "you're too good of a person." Charles looked down to keep an embarrassed smile from his face as he pulled his shirt collar back, trying to ignore the brush of warmth left behind by Erik's thumb.

"My past is past, and I don't let it hold me back. I wish you would let me help you with yours."

"You can't fix me, Charles." Erik watched almost disappointedly as Charles buttoned up his shirt.

**Never my love,  
>Never my love.<strong>

"You don't know that for sure, but you'll never give me a chance because you won't dare to hope." Something of a sad smile came to Charles' face as his eyes settled back to Erik's. Erik couldn't ever recall seeing a bluer pair of eyes. "And I'll just have to live with that for now. But come on, you can help me search this place for a good merlot or zinfandel." Charles clapped Erik cheerily on the arm before turning to resume his search for the evening's wine.

Erik stared after Charles, almost glaring between him and the shelves of wine. Erik didn't exactly have a pedigree that spoke to knowing much or anything about the finer points of life, let alone differing varieties of wine. He turned to the nearest column of stacked wine, perusing the label. 'Tempranillo.'

"A merlot or a zinfin-what?" Erik called out in the space, brushing dust from another label, discovering it also to be a tempranillo.

"Zinfandel," Charles' voice sounded out from among the shelves, "it's a robust, full-flavored wine. But I think merlot instead." Erik gave his head an annoyed shake as he took another step, glancing over the wines, not really caring. Charles rounded the corner with a smile, two bottles in hand. "Mostly merlot because I happened to find some first." He produced a bottle to Erik who took it wearily, reading the label. Beautiful French lettering donned the label that had started to peel with age, half covered with dust missed by Charles' fingers when he picked it up.

"1940 vintage," Erik read, eyes wide as if impressed, "is this going to be any good?" He leveled Charles with a curious, almost disgusted look, hefting the bottle suspiciously.

"Honestly, I have no idea," Charles admitted with a quick shake of his head, "I know some wines are meant to age for decades, others for months. We'll just have to hope it's the former." Charles watched that disbelieving look lingers in his friend's stormy eyes. "What's the matter, Erik? Not feeling adventurous?" A playful twinkle settled in Charles' eyes, matched by the smile on his handsome face. Erik couldn't help but return the smile, accepting Charles' challenge, matching his friend's gaze.

"Lead the way, professor."


	3. Herman's Crystals

**JustPassingBy – Thank you for the feedback on dialogue and tempo! It's been fun and a bit tricky to play with Charles & Erik in casual, more personal, even mundane settings than the movie allowed us to see. Future comments/criticisms are most welcome if I maintain or kill it completely. My goal is to improve with each story I write. **

**Black-Dranzer-1119 – Thank you for taking the time to drop a line! I hope you continue to enjoy! **

**It's encouraging to see the favorite & alert emails—helps reaffirm my decision that this is worthy of posting (it's my husband's second least favorite thing I've written, boo). **

**Notes for this chapter:  
>1. Back in 6<strong>**th**** grade, I had the opportunity to hear a Holocaust survivor talk about her experience in the camps. She talked about fighting off rats for what little food they had and how she & her brothers played with lice for toys. It was an incredibly moving talk, enlightening us all to the true horrors she faced daily. She wore her tattoo of inscribed numbers as a badge of honor, a testament to her strength, a point of pride almost. She knew she was in a place where death was the only way out, and she, miraculously in her words, escaped with her life. Only she and one of her three brothers survived the camps. Some of these ideas are reflected below.  
>2. I think Charles would have a decent singing voice based on hearing M. McAvoy sing.<br>3. A slight deviation from the movie: more time passes between Erik' moving the satellite dish and the President's address. Hopefully not too distracting! **

****Reviews/comments/constructive criticisms are welcome & appreciated! Thanks & Hope you enjoy!****

xxx

**Chapter 3: Herman's Crystals **

**And Then He Kissed Me – The Crystals**

Harvard, and subsequently Oxford, had been good for Charles. Without university, he might never have really learned all the mundane things the estate servants had tended to in his youth—cooking, dishwashing, laundry. Raven had helped him through it, of course, but even she had no real experience with any of it since coming to live at the Xavier estate.

But as he stood now, pairing socks and folding undershirts, he was glad for what knowledge he did possess. He sent his suits and shirts out, but he didn't mind tending to his more personal items. In fact, no one in the house minded tending to their own clothing, or pitching in to help with the dishwashing or general housekeeping, something Charles was sure his mother was rolling over in her grave for. If only she knew the things her son did these days, including making his own hot chocolate on occasion.

"Oh no…." A soft whine issued from the room's other occupant, forcing an amused smile to Charles' face, "it's ruined." He looked over his shoulder at Raven, whose face was scrunched in disappointment as she studied a white blouse.

"I warned you about the wisdom of eating lasagna in a white shirt…it's the law of the universe, Raven."

"Do you always have to be right?" Raven griped, balling up the blouse and tossing it atop her stack of folded clothes. "Worse, do you always have to remind me of it?"

"You dish out your own hardships, dear sister. But I am sorry your blouse is ruined." She sighed sadly, leveling Charles at last with a small smile.

"It was my favorite too," her smile brightened, "but that just means I get to go shopping." Charles fought a roll of his eyes, knowing if Raven caught it, she'd give him some line about being 'as bad as a dad.' "I'm finished in here. Do you want the radio left on?"

"Don't care…I wasn't really listening anyway." He had honestly tuned it out. It came with practice from being used to voices in his head.

"I'll leave it then. Rock'n roll will do you good. You act way too responsible these days for my tastes." Raven cast him a last teasing smile as she picked up her stack of clothes and disappeared into the hallway.

Charles watched her exit, wanting to explain to her just why he had to be the responsible one: caring for a house of kids; training to face off against a madman hell-bent on starting world war III; collaborating with the ever-weary CIA. Instead he opted for a sigh, turning back to his laundry, ears perking at the song on the radio.

**Well he walked up to me  
>And if he asked me if I wanted to dance.<br>He looked kind of nice  
>And so I said I might take a chance.<strong>

Charles turned to the radio with a fond smile. What an old and familiar song. His mind instantly flooded with memories of Beulah Violet. How she made it all the way to Westchester from Mississippi, he never bothered to ask in his child's state of mind. But as conservative, appearance-based and reserved as his mother had been, Beulah was completely the opposite. His mother would play Bach and Tchaikovsky on the odd occasion, and Beulah would play the new rock'n roll music; his mother never dared to mutter a swear word, and Beulah would string them together in creative fashion if her hand caught in drawer or she dropped the mop pail.

Of course, if Charles' mother was in earshot, Beulah was everything his mother believed the maid to be. But for the observant Charles, she represented a whole new side to life. She was a fresh breath of freedom in his stifled, uptight little world. He often made a habit to follow her about in her chores, asking her only a few questions at first before striking up what was one of his fondest childhood friendships. But only until his mother caught her smoking in the kitchen one morning and Charles never saw her again.

He was surprised how easily the lyrics flowed from his lips as he continued to fold his laundry. He hadn't heard this song in ages, probably not since the last time Beulah played it.

"**So I whispered I love you/ he said that he loved me too/ and then he kissed me…he kissed me in a way that I've never been kissed before**." He felt Erik's lingering presence in the back of room, quieting his singing and turning to see the metal-manipulator's amused smile and barely contained laughter.

"Is it even worth asking how you know the words to this song?" Erik asked as he moved more into the room, dropping a basket of dirty clothes to the floor. A warm smile came to Charles' face.

"An old friend—the maid who worked here when I grew up—played the new rock music whenever my mother wasn't around. I often was just around, and picked up the words I guess."

"Touching." Nothing in Erik's tone supported the sentiment as he busied with loading the washing machine. Charles turned back to the other man, just noticing the man's black, short-sleeved polo. Surprisingly, it was a rather warm afternoon, and even Charles had shucked his usual sweater in favor of just a dress shirt. But in the motions of Erik's arms, Charles' eyes fixed to a marking on the inside of Erik's left forearm. Six numbers in an uneven, probably rushed dark scrawl stood out prominently against the man's otherwise pale skin, forcing a pang through Charles' heart. Here was proof of all the man's pain he had glimpsed, but also of all the strength he knew Erik possessed.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" Erik's sharp words jarred Charles' attention, his bright blue eyes moving from Erik's tattoo to his face.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to. It's just that its—"

"An abomination."

"—beautiful." Charles finished softly, his face honest and genuine as Erik's darkened to a scowl.

"Don't spin this in your ideological ways." Erik near growled, hoping to deter the telepath. "Not everything is lined in your positive rays of hope."

"It doesn't have to be hope. It can be any number of things—love, trust, strength," Charles continued, desperate to help the other man, "those numbers are a testament to your strength. You were in a place designed for death—a place where you could do everything right, and still you would die. But you didn't. You have lived for years after and still many more to come. You can claim it is your thirst for vengeance that has driven you since that day. But what ultimately reinforces that sense of revenge and gives you your strength is the most basic of all—love." Charles's voice softened as he watched the emotions play in Erik's eyes. "You loved your mother and you still do."

"Stop it, Charles," Erik ground out, his face in hard, frustrated lines, "just stop it. If I wanted to let you in, I would."

"You already have, my friend." A small smile came to Charles' face, his eyes alight with hope. "Even if you won't admit it." He turned at length back to his laundry, gathering it up to hold it in his right arm against his chest as he moved from the counter. Erik was staring down at the offending tattoo, his eyes distant as he regarded the marking

"You needn't live in such anger over it." Charles said softly as he neared. "Nothing about it makes you repulsive to someone you're not threatening."

"I thought I told you to stay out of my head." Erik looked up on the end of his words, almost drowning in Charles' ocean blue eyes.

"I don't need to be a telepath to know all that. Your eyes do a remarkable job of betraying your stoicism." Erik instantly clamped his eyes shut, as if ashamed someone else could so easily see through him. Never before had anyone bothered to look at him so closely. Most everyone just saw a monster, undeserving of everything normal to human life. Yet here was this one man actually looking at him as a person, overwhelming Erik with the genuine honesty that he exuded to set the world right for Erik to live a free life.

Erik's eyes flew open as warm, sure fingers settled to his left forearm, gently moving over the branded skin, watching the younger man's eyes gaze down almost reverently.

"It's remarkable, really," Charles voice was soft between them, "you're a survivor, and I have no doubt you will continue to do just what you must to keep surviving. But you don't have to do it alone any longer, my friend." Charles' eyes rose to Erik's for one last reassuring smile before pulling away. A sudden feeling of loss wrenched in Erik's stomach as he watched Charles walk away, surprised to find he actually missed the telepath's gentle touch.

"I can't let you in, Charles," Erik called out softly, looking after the man almost regretfully, "there's too much in me you don't need to be corrupted by."

"I've seen plenty, Erik, and I'm still here." Charles returned smoothly with something of a challenging smile, rewarded when he met a smile laced with relief from the older man.

xxx

**Can't You Hear My Heartbeat – Herman's Hermits**

Charles near bounced—bounced, oh yes—down the hallway. He was fresh from the shower, cheeks still flushed pink from the latent heat, hair combed back smooth except for a few stray strands that broken loose to hang lazily across his forehead. Today had been an astounding day. So much accomplished with endless possibilities for the future. He knew the smile on his face was at least a mile wide.

**Every time I see you looking my way,  
>Baby, baby, can't you hear my heart beat<strong>

"Well somebody certainly looks happy," Raven looked at him with a surprised, amused smile, as she stopped midstride down the hallway, "happier than I've seen you in a long time, Charles."

"Is that so wrong?" Charles asked, the smile not fading from his face.

"No…it's just unexpected." Raven loved seeing this side of Charles. It certainly wasn't his usual, but it was always refreshing.

"Is it really?" Charles' crystalline eyes took on a surprised light. "Today's been a fabulous day—Sean's flying amazingly well; Hank's a day closer to accepting himself; I'm clean and fresh out of the shower; hungry now, certainly wanting some scotch; and I have a beautiful sister. What more could I ask for?" Raven couldn't help her widening smile as Charles reached for her hand, stepping closer to her and taking her other, starting to dance off down the hallway with her. She laughed, moving with him, the scent of his soap invading her nose as they moved, his soothing voice singing along to the words.

**All my friends are crying out to meet ya  
>Baby, baby can't you hear my heartbeat<strong>

Raven spun out of Charles' arms and back in as they moved down the hallway, eyes locked in their fun, carefree dance, Raven's voice now mixing with his.

**Can't you hear the pounding of my heartbeat  
>Cause you're the one I love<br>You're the one I love**

Charles pulled her close as the song drew to a close, her laughter echoing off the wood paneling.

"Geez Charles," Raven's warm, relaxed smile matched Charles' in their close embrace, "if I weren't the shape-shifter of the house, I would have to question if it was you I was actually dancing with."

"You two do look quite cozy." Erik's voice drifted lazily from the nearest doorway, making them both turn to see the metal-manipulator lounging against the edge of the billiards table.

"I haven't seen Charles dance—with me or anyone—since attending Oxford," Raven laughed, turning back to Charles with a warm smile, "you should act like this more often. But now I need get back to the kitchen and make sure Sean hasn't burned anything." She leaned in close, placing a kiss to her brother's cheek before turning from his arms and continuing down the hallway. Charles watched after her briefly before turning to Erik with a relaxed smile.

"What brings you to the billiards room?" He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling over. "Fancying a game? I'm admittedly rather shoddy at billiards."

"I don't know how to play myself," Erik answered, eyes scanning the ornate wood paneling in the heavy room, "I'm just exploring what more this museum has to offer."

"It does feel like that, doesn't it," Charles admitted, coming to a stop in front of Erik, his eyes following suit to rake over the heavy paneling , thick carpeting, low lighting. A perfect setting for a man's-man game of billiards with scotch and curling cigar smoke trails. "Let's redecorate then." Erik's lips quirked in amusement, leveling Charles with a curious light in his serious eyes.

"What's put you in such a relaxed—dare I say—happy mood, hmm?" Charles' smile grew across his face as he gave a small, noncommittal shrug.

"Today's been a day of accomplishments left and right. Yours included." The smile fell from Erik's face, his eyes sharpening to a warning glare.

"Who all have you told about this afternoon and the satellite dish?" Erik asked, stance stiffening against the billiards table.

"No one. I know you haven't been broadcasting it quite like Sean is his accomplishments, so I haven't bothered to mention it," Charles smoothly answered, "it was our moment, such as it was. And if you want to share it with others, that's not my decision to make." Charles watched the nervous tension seep from Erik's shoulders, his body relaxing back against the table.

"Is your elated mood the reason for the dance with Raven just now, then?" Erik asked, amusement creeping back to his eyes. "I must say, you're more graceful on your feet than I would have given you credit."

"Why thank you, Erik. That's rather touching. Were you feeling left out? I'd be more than happy to extend you the honors." Erik's eyebrow quirked in momentary surprise.

"Of a dance?"

"Of a dance, yes. What else?" Charles asked back innocently, enjoying the surprisingly flustered look on Erik's face.

"No thank you, Charles. I prefer to save my first dance for a more worthy occasion." A curious light sparked in Charles' eyes."

"Am I really the first person to ask you for a dance?" He smiled at the thought, making Erik take special notice of the rather enticing flush in Charles' cheeks. "You're entitled to your opinion, though I fail to see a more worthy occasion than this afternoon…." Charles' lips suddenly quirked in pensive thought, a new light dawning in his eyes. "It makes me wonder, though, how you would react if I had told everyone about this afternoon…," Charles continued, again watching the stiffening of Erik's posture, suddenly wondering how much more of a reaction he could drag from his friend, "you tensed up earlier—just as you are now—on the slightest question of whether or not I had revealed your weakness—your failure to fully tap the full range of your power without help," Erik's face hardened to impassive, stony lines as Charles talked, "and furthermore, that you're really a softie since you outright wept in the ultimate beauty of the moment—"

"I know what you're trying to do…" Erik returned, his voice icy, not appreciating the test from his friend.

"I should go tell everyone," Charles continued, undeterred, "they would damn well be guaranteed to stop fearing you, and see you for the grieving, lonely child you still are." The zipper on Charles' cardigan shot all the way up, lightly constricting his throat as he swallowed. "I thought so….though I must say, strangling me with the zip on my cardigan is more intimate than I would have given you credit. I envisioned the light fixture slamming through my skull; much more dramatic." Charles raised a hand to undo the zipper to just below the neckline of his undershirt. "We should work on your methods of anger management, maybe with the foxtrot or bossa nova."

"I never confirmed your assertion that I would strangle you, Charles," Erik returned coolly, ignoring Charles' jab about the dances, standing up from the table and inching closer to Charles, watching the telepath take a curious step back and sideways. If Charles had wanted to start this game, Erik only hoped the man was willing to see it all the way through. "Zipping up your cardigan was merely to get your attention…I have something much more interesting in mind." A mischievous, enigmatic smile came to Erik's chiseled face as he took another step, advancing on Charles, watching the other man step back to keep distance.

Slowly, almost teasingly, the zipper on Charles' cardigan started sliding down until the ends separated, hanging free at his waist. Charles refused to move his eyes from Erik's, not willing to back down from the test he started. The zipper chords started to move, pulling the cardigan back from Charles' shoulders, exposing his undershirt clad torso, causing him to quickly clench his arms at his sides to stop its removal. Erik took another step closer, tilting his head curiously, smirk widening as Charles stepped back. Despite the space the telepath kept between them, the confident determination in his blue eyes was overwhelming.

"Put your arms down Charles, or I will fucking rip your sweater in two." A shiver ran down Charles' spine, matched by the curl of desire in his stomach, at the growl on Erik's words. With the barest hint of a smirk, Charles relaxed his arms, feeling the zipper chords move to divest him of the rest of the cardigan. Suddenly, standing before Erik dressed in little else than slacks and an undershirt, Charles had never felt so naked. Erik's eyes dropped from Charles' to rake over the man's torso, never having seen him in so little clothing.

"Well look at you, professor," Erik's eyes shot back up to Charles' as he inched another step, pressing his index finger to the center of Charles' chest to push him back a step. "Your blazers and cardigans don't do you justice. If you've been working out with weights, you should show it off." A red tinge crept to Charles' cheeks as a smug smirk crept to his lips, his eyes never wavering.

"I don't feel the need to show off my physique…consider it a bonus for those who get to know me intimately." Charles fired back, planning to tease Erik at his own game.

"Does anyone ever know you intimately if you have the ability to control what they think…," Erik advanced in two long strides, forcing Charles to step back, his body connecting with the wall's heavy wood paneling.

"You think I'm doing that now?" Charles asked, a surprising and exciting surge of heat settling to his groin as Erik stepped within an inch of him, close enough for Charles to feel radiating heat through the cotton of his undershirt, against the bare skin of his arm.

"No," Erik's voice dropped to a soft, husky timbre, "you always play by some misguided set of rules."

"Not misguided," Charles returned, not surprised to find his voice matching Erik's in their close proximity, "a fair set of rules. If I chose to end this, it would be all too easy." Charles' arm twitched at his side, as if to raise it to his temple in a silent threat. Erik's arm moved to brace against the wall, effectively pinning Charles in on one side.

"Which makes me have to wonder," Erik started casually, raising his other arm to rest against the wall, sealing Charles between his body and the wall, yet still not touching, "if you are enjoying this a little too much." Charles breathed a silent laugh, lips curling into a smile, feeling Erik's breath across his cheek.

"Is that not your intention?" Charles smoothly answered. "Or if your intention is to push me until you win this little game, then I have to wonder in return just how far you'll take it."

"Until you yield and agree never to test my reactions again," Erik ground out, stepping ever so closer, finding Charles' skin incredibly tempting up close, "try as you might, you will not turn me into your predictable boy scout who never harms a fly. My anger is mine to do with as I please, not yours. Test me again, whether for your own amusement or in reality, and you can expect I will find you." Another bolt of heat coursed through Charles at the low, dangerous threat on Erik's words.

"Do you think I will yield?" Charles forced the words together, drowning in the intensity of Erik's eyes, finding their close proximity without touching extremely arousing. Nothing about the situation was helped as a playful smile curved about Erik's face, echoing in his eyes.

"No Charles. I don't…" Erik's voice trailed off in a husky murmur, his head dipping towards Charles' neck. Charles felt his breath hitch in anticipation, surprised to find how much he actually wanted the feel of Erik's lips on his own.

"Hey guys, its din—" Sean froze mid-word at the scene before him as he rounded the corner to the billiards room—a nearly shirtless Charles pinned to the wall by Erik, who hovered over Charles' neck, bodies near flush together. Sean's face flushed red to match his hair, eyes darting between the forgotten cardigan on the floor and the two men who were now facing him with pointed looks. "Um, uh, yeah…its dinner time…Raven told me to come…um, whenever you want." He put his hands up in a non-offensive gesture, not able to meet either man's eyes as he quickly retreated.

Charles let go the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, turning back to Erik with an embarrassed little smile, hearing the man exhale a similar relived breath.

"Well that just might actually solve a few problems," Charles surmised as he met Erik's confused look, "if Sean goes back & reports what he saw, then everyone will stop wondering about us, and Raven will stop trying to pursue you in bed."

"She already has." Erik admitted, dropping his arms and turning from Charles' sudden glare.

"She already has?" Charles repeated, the tone of his voice leaving no question that he wanted Erik to look at him. "And please tell me you were the gentleman and sent her away?"

"Surprise you, does it?" It was Erik's turn to watch surprise flash across those bright blue eyes, slowly turning to respect and resolve.

"Not as much as this will surprise you." Charles closed the space between them, his lips firmly settling to Erik's. Erik froze under the surprise intensity of Charles' kiss, racing to return the shorter man's touch. Charles' hands rose to rake through Erik's hair as his lips parted, pushing the kiss farther. A groan sounded in the back of Erik's throat as he pulled Charles close against him, devouring the telepath's mouth with deep velvety strokes. Erik wouldn't have guessed a kiss could be this intoxicating—and surely not with another man—but Charles was something else. Why had they waited so long to do this? Suddenly Charles disengaged, breaking from Erik's mouth to step back finding Erik's hold slackened in surprise. Erik drank in the man's deliciously flushed skin and wet, red lips, swollen from his attentions.

"You might want to sort your hair back in place." Charles offered politely, his voice amazingly controlled to contrast the past minute's reckless kiss.

"What was that, Charles?" Erik asked, his eyes dark with arousal, otherwise unreadable as he regarded the other man, hating the mischievous little smirk that played across Charles' handsome face.

"I couldn't walk away leaving such tension between us unresolved, nor have the whole house thinking we're snogging without a ravished appearance to show for it. Trust me, my friend, we'll both benefit." Charles' smirk widened into a full out smile as he raised a hand to Erik's shoulder for a parting touch, turning away before he caught the annoyed, even disappointed glare from the metal-manipulator.

"Charles…," Erik called after him, not having moved since Charles ended the frantic kiss, "you can't just do this to someone…."

"Sure I can," the smugness of Charles' tone did not go unnoticed, feeling Erik's eyes on him as he stooped to retrieve his forgotten cardigan, "it is dinner time after all."

Erik's eyes fell closed as he grit his teeth, stringing together every curse he knew as he raised a hand to smooth the hair Charles had mussed. What had started out as Charles' game had certainly ended that way, despite Erik's best efforts. Taking a deep breath to cool the aroused heat coursing through his blood, Erik made a mental note to never turn one of Charles' tests back on him. Not when it was bound to make dinner such an awkward affair.

xxx

**Kinda different, a little uneven, but still more to come. Want more? Want less? I'd love to hear from you! Thanks again!**

**P.S. Does anyone know the name of Erik's mother? My research has turned up very little, and I would like to not make it up unless I have to. Thanks! **


	4. Simon Cline

**phoenixqueen – I'm so glad to hear you're enjoying the story! And thank you for the information on Erik's mother. While I'm half surprised to hear his mother has never been identified, it does help create a more poignant idea for us the audience/fans. Since you were kind enough to express your appreciation for the subtleness of the relationship, I feel compelled to warn you a more direct approach is planned for the last chapter (the rating will probably increase to accommodate it). While I hope you continue to read, I completely understand if you wish to stop. **

**Kahenia – Welcome back! Glad you liked the kiss, teehee. I wanted to give it an unexpected turn, Charles is just crafty enough, and Erik reaped the benefits ;)**

**Flo des bois – Want and you shall receive! Enjoy!**

**Many thanks to all who continue to favorite & alert! You guys are awesome! **

**Notes on this chapter:  
>1. I don't condone smoking, but it's the 60's. And it can be really sexy.<br>2. Another reference is made below to an XMFC deleted scene at the strip club with Angel when Charles projects Erik in drag. **

**Warnings: language **

**Thanks & I really hope you enjoy the chapter! (it's my favorite) **

**xxx **

**Chapter 4: Simon Cline **

**Sound of Silence – Simon & Garfunkel **

He was actually in the middle of a rather enjoyable, interesting book. More a tome, to be completely accurate, but engrossing nonetheless. Yet something nagged at him to stop, and without any real reason, he slumped back against his desk chair, feeling the refreshing afternoon breeze blow across his cheek, ruffling his hair.

It was a pleasantly warm Sunday afternoon, one of the last they were sure to see before winter. Charles had long shed his sweater to roll up his shirtsleeves, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt (glad he had forgone an undershirt today) and opened the windows to better enjoy a cooling breeze. The kids—he couldn't help but call them kids even though he wasn't even a decade older—were out in the yard, clearly enjoying themselves. At least if their bursts of laughter and languid conversation drifting through the window over the music, were to be believed.

**Hello darkness, my old friend  
>I've come to talk with you again<br>Because a vision softly creeping  
>Left its seeds while I was sleeping<br>And the vision that was planted in my brain  
>Still remains<br>Within the sound of silence**

He drummed his fingers lazily against the wooden armrests, blowing out a tired breath. When was the last time he actually just took an afternoon for himself? The kids were doing just that—enjoying the break from training—so why shouldn't he? Charles' eyes landed on the scotch decanter across the room. Soundlessly, he rose from the chair, making his way over and pouring himself a generous glass of the amber liquid.

When was the last time he got good and drunk? Or better yet, when was the last time he got good and laid? Such were the sacrifices in his newfound role as guardian and leader of this team. He took a big pull, relishing the hearty burn in his throat. Glass in hand, he moved back to the desk, pulling open a top drawer and quickly fishing out the two items he sought.

He nudged the drawer closed with his thigh before abandoning the desk in the favor of the leather chairs and couch comprising a small sitting area. Lacking his usual element of refinement, he fell back against the cushy, worn armchair, careful to mind his full glass. He leaned forward to set the glass down, pulling a cigarette from the carton with his now empty hand. Expertly he raised it to his lips, swiftly lighting it and blowing twin trails of smoke out his nose. He tossed the lighter back on the table, pulling the ashtray closer and picking back up his scotch. Charles brought the cigarette back to his lips, drawing another welcome breath before exhaling, feeling the nicotine seep relaxingly into his limbs. He let his eyes drift close, taking another welcome slug of scotch.

**In restless dreams I walked alone  
>Narrow streets of cobblestone<br>'Neath the halo of a street lamp  
>I turned my collar to the cold and damp<br>When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light  
>That split the night<br>And touched the sound of silence**

"You wouldn't happen to have an impossibly sexy woman hidden away in here, would you?" Charles' eyes opened on Erik's words to find the metal-manipulator looking curiously around the study before settling on the telepath. "Because you look, if you'll pardon the phrase, completely fucked out." A wry smile crossed Charles' face as nothing about his slouched posture changed.

"No. I was actually just ruminating how I could do with a good lay."

"You know, I've never heard you utter a vulgarity—"

"A good fuck, then." Charles answered lazily, a smug smirk playing about his lips as he raised the cigarette, inhaling a breath. Erik's face remained impassive, but his eyes held the mildest hint of mirth and surprise as they regarded Charles' relaxed form, the exposed portion of his chest. "I don't disagree with vulgarities on principle. In fact in some situations they are quite useful. But in general, I prefer to be more creative." Erik continued to watch as Charles took another drag, followed by a sip of scotch in his haze of smoke.

"I didn't know you smoked." Erik moved around from behind the couch, coming to a stop next to the coffee table where the discarded lighter and cigarette carton lay.

"I don't…regularly. But every now and then, there is just nothing better." Charles took another swig of scotch, watching as Erik lifted the carton and shook out a cigarette of his own, not hesitating to light it. A smile drifted lazily across Charles' face as he watched Erik fall back against the couch, his right arm lazily stretched out along the back of the cushions.

"I usually don't indulge myself, but…right now, it is most enjoyable." Erik agreed.

"Mmhmm." Charles hummed in response, watching the smoke blow past Erik's lips.

"So it's 1:30 on a Sunday afternoon, and you're drinking and smoking," Erik started conversationally, taking another drag, "is this how you reconcile your father-figure role with your lothario lifestyle?" Charles slowly turned his head to face Erik straight on.

"Excuse me?"

"Raven has been all too happy to share tales of the many beautiful women you used to bring home."

"Not _that_ many," Charles defended, his lips forming a slight pout. Erik couldn't help but chuckle at the sight. Charles looked utterly adorable.

"Enough that she questions how you're surviving this straight-laced role you're assuming now."

"As you so adequately surmised—scotch and a smoke at 1:30 on a Sunday afternoon." Charles raised his glass in a mock toast.

**And in the naked light I saw  
>Ten thousand people, maybe more<br>People talking without speaking  
>People hearing without listening<br>People writing songs that voices never share  
>And no one dared<br>Disturb the sound of silence**

"You're not cloistered here, Charles," Erik started at length, exhaling smoke, "you are free to go out and enjoy yourself."

"It's all about setting examples now, Erik. We have a house of impressionable teens looking up to us."

"'Us?'" A hint of disgust registered on Erik's word.

"Yes, 'us.' We're the oldest, we're in charge. They're looking up to you and me whether we like it or not."

"Not," Erik paused for a smoky breath, "that wasn't what I signed up for when I decided to stick around."

"Well, such as it is, we're these kids' parental figures now." As if on cue, both men started laughing at the thought.

"You would most certainly qualify as the mother of the house. I can almost picture you in a dress, bending over a hot stove…" Erik idly speculated, taking a last drag off the cigarette.

"Fuck off," Charles tossed back, feeling deliciously lightheaded and relaxed as the alcohol and nicotine combined in his system, "I have it on good authority just how good you look in a dress, with red hair no less." A sly grin spread across Erik's face.

"Careful Charles, or someone might just think that's a fantasy you care to privately indulge." A sparkly flash from Erik's chest caught his attention, making him instantly look down to find his attire altered. Where his black turtleneck and khaki slacks had been before was now a sequined blue dress with thin straps that ended mid-thigh. White go-go boots adorned his feet and strands of red hair framed his vision.

"Don't tell me this is what Angel saw that day…," Erik asked, looking to Charles for confirmation, drinking in his friend's amused, relaxed state—it was such a sexy change from typical Charles. "Really Charles, I never knew you were so kinky."

"Mmm perhaps I'll show you sometime."

"Get out of my head, Charles," Erik said, his tone dismissive but firm, "with that window open, it's a bit drafty and these fishnets chafe." Erik looked down again to see his appearance returned to normal.

**"Fools", said I, "You do not know  
>Silence like a cancer grows<br>Hear my words that I might teach you  
>Take my arms that I might reach you"<br>But my words, like silent raindrops fell  
>And echoed<br>In the wells of silence**

"You didn't bother to raise your hand," Erik observed, "and you did promise to stay out of my head."

"I don't have to raise my hand to use my ability, but I usually do out of common courtesy—don't bother to comment on that," Charles preempted, watching Erik draw a breath to speak, "and just to clarify, I never promised to stay out of your head. You told me to stay out."

"Never mind the semantics, stay out."

"Done." Charles leaned forward, stubbing out the remainder of his cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table in front of him, eyes landing on the carton in front of Erik, momentarily debating with himself. "Could you pass that back to me?" He asked as length, setting his scotch down.

"No." Erik watched Charles' eyes lock to his.

"And why not?"

"I'm comfortable." The metal-manipulator relaxed his lean body further back against the cushions as if to prove his point.

"You ass." Charles chided, rising from the armchair and skirting around the table. He reached for the carton, sliding out another and reaching for the lighter. He exhaled the resulting cloud of smoke, letting himself fall casually back against the couch. His neck connected with the hard line of Erik's arm as he leaned his head back, letting his eyes drift closed, knowing there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Erik watched the younger man raise the cigarette to his lips, finding he wanted a second one himself, or better yet to taste it with a heady combination of Charles and scotch. Memories of their frenzied billiards room embrace assaulted him.

"Your arm isn't very comfortable." Charles commented through an exhale of smoke, bringing an unbidden smile to Erik's face.

"In all fairness, it was there first." Erik reached his free hand up, loosely wrapping around Charles', prying the cigarette from the man's warm fingers.

"Childish, Erik. Really." Charles mock-scolded as he leaned forward to retrieve his scotch, finding Erik's arm had shifted lower in his absence, curling him closer into Erik's side as he settled back against the couch. The scotch warmed its way down the telepath's throat, a peaceful sigh passing his lips in the aftermath. Again, he felt Erik's hand on his own, vying for the highball, and he easily yielded, more than willing to share. The movement of Erik's neck muscles transfixed Charles as he watched the man take a drink in their close proximity.

"Mmm, now that's not bad." Erik pulled the glass back, studying the liquid as if impressed he finally found a scotch that suited his pallet. A rich, delicious laugh left Charles as he took the highball back.

"You, my friend, have no taste," another soft laugh passed before he took a pull, "this is the cheapest swill in the house."

"Which, by normal standards, I'm sure is still decent stuff."

"Are you insulting my tastes?" Charles reached a hand out to pull Erik's hand that held the cigarette closer.

"No," Erik answered softly, watching the younger man wrap his lips around the cigarette that Erik still held, unable to shake how much this felt like sharing a post-coital smoke, suddenly finding he wanted to do nothing more, "you put up with me, and I wouldn't dare question that." The smile that curled about Charles' face was overwhelmingly comforting and inviting.

"I told you once before, I'm still here—and don't plan on going anywhere." Erik was sure he could live the rest of his life and never find eyes so blue and mesmerizing.

"Then don't…the afternoon's still young." Before he could think about it, he leaned forward brushing a loose kiss to Charles' brow, relaxed contentment settling between the two men.

Is this what true peace felt like?

xxx

**I Fall to Pieces – Patsy Cline **

__.

The pain coursed through his head, an endless sine wave of misery. It had started out a dull ache, loosely pulsing behind his eyes in the morning hours; a leftover from an extended test run of Hank's new, "improved" Cerebro prototype. But well into dinner it had progressed to an intense pain that accompanied his every movement, his every blink. He had spent the majority of the day reassuring everyone he was alright, forcing an outward appearance of normalcy, despite the throbbing pain. But when he refused an after dinner drink, everyone knew something was definitely wrong with Charles.

"It's just a headache, Raven," Charles again did he best to reassure as he lay with his head against the back of the chair, eyes closed, hair lazily falling across his forehead, "nothing a good night's sleep won't fix." His words were slow, lacking their usual refined edge.

"Charles, in all the years I have known you, you have never suffered from headaches." Raven pressed on concernedly, worried at the pale pallor to her brother's cheeks and his lack of movement.

"Maybe he's getting old." Erik offered offhandedly, glancing up from the book he read.

"No…," Charles ground out, frustration in his voice, "sore from Cerebro…yesterday. That's all. Brain's a muscle, and mine's just…sore." Charles cracked a tired eye, glancing around at all the concerned faces, none more so than Hank. "It's no one's fault."

"I promise to fix it before next time, professor. I shouldn't have let you test it. I knew it really wasn't ready."

"No Hank, stop…please." Charles offered up a weak smile, increasing the pain pounding in his temple. Erik watched the effort of Charles' movement as the telepath's eyelids dropped closed. At least the radio chirping in the background was playing softer music tonight.

**I fall to pieces  
>Each time I see you again<br>I fall to pieces  
>How can I be just your friend<strong>

The weatherman had been making broadcasts all night in between songs, condemning the Westchester area to a rough, stormy night. Light, steady, downright soothing rain was falling outside currently, but everyone knew it would be only a matter of time before the rough stuff hit.

Charles had warned them all over dinner about the tendency of the estate to lose power during rough storms. Downed trees and isolation in the countryside were the main contributing factors. As such, everyone made sure they were equipped with a flashlight and the ability to seek extra warmth—blankets or firewood—should the house get too cool on this October night.

Charles blew a deep slow breath, letting his head loll to the other side against the chair, seeking any form of relief. Faint conversation drifted around him, nothing he could definitely make out, nor cared to. Slowly he opened his eyes, blinking painfully in the warm, yellow light. Instantly he noted Erik's concerned gaze lingering on him, his brow creased in guarded worry for his younger friend.

"Well I'm gonna go to bed…," Charles started at length, missing the look of surprise on everyone's faces for his slurred words, "try to sleep this off before…storms hit." The movement of his limbs was growing increasingly sluggish, using the armrest for balance as he made it to his feet.

"Charles, are…are you going to make it?" Raven asked quietly, trying not to risk annoying him.

"Yes, Raven," his eyes slowly raised from his feet to offer her a reassuring little smile, "thank you. I'll be alright." With one last push off the armchair, he continued through the room, fighting through pain rocketing through his skull.

Erik watched him, unable to stop. Charles had seemed twenty years younger as he lay in the chair before rising, his usually well-coiffed hair adorably loose in his face. Erik had never seen the man look more vulnerable. But then again, Erik couldn't begin to understand what a headache was for a telepath.

Charles paused in his slow walk, resting a hand against the doorframe for the briefest of seconds, stabilizing himself, before trudging onwards into the hallway. As much as the lights in the library pained him, they were also keeping him awake. He found it increasingly harder to focus and keep his eyes open in the semi-darkness of the long hallway. His steps started staggering, just wanting to succumb to the welcome arms of sleep if it would spare him this pain in his head.

**You tell me to find someone else to love  
>Someone who'll love me, too, the way you used to do<strong>

Charles' eyes grew heavier, slumping closed as his brain finally gave out control of his body. And honestly, he didn't care. Someone could find him, someone could not. From his youth, he knew the carpets were thick and plush. If he were to stay here all night, encased in the blissful, relieving arms of sleep, so be it. But when he crashed against a hard, warm, angular body, he knew he wasn't going to be so lucky.

"Charles…Charles?" Erik's voice grew sterner, quiet concern lacing his words. He knew Charles wouldn't make it very far. It hadn't been easy convincing Raven to stay with the others, but Erik was truthfully ready to retire for the night. Checking on Charles along his way wasn't really a problem.

"Charles?" Erik tried again, adjusting his hold as the telepath settled against his chest.

"Leave me…Erik, please." Erik held him tighter, feeling Charles burrow into his turtleneck.

"I'm not letting you sleep on a rug in the hallway, Charles. Come on." Gingerly Erik moved Charles to brace the shorter man's back against his right arm, hooking his left arm under the man's knees. With a little concerted effort, he rose to his feet, holding Charles tightly to him as he walked down the hallway.

Charles had it easiest with the master suite on the first floor of the estate. As Erik walked, he couldn't help but notice how warm and solid Charles felt in his arms. As glimpsed during their encounter in the billiards room, he knew the man's body to be quite built and trim. Charles, for his part, kept his eyes screwed shut as Erik walked, burying his face into metal-manipulator's shirt, a free hand fisting in the material to better cover his face.

"Almost there." Erik wasn't sure why he bothered to inform Charles of such. Just minutes ago the man was trying to convince Erik to leave him in the hallway. With just a brief wave of his hand, the bedroom door latch gave way and the light switch flipped to fill the expansive room with a warm, soothing glow.

Erik couldn't help but drink in the opulent setting—long draped forest green curtains adorned the high windows; large ornate mahogany furniture spotted the well appointed room; and the bed, a four-poster in the same deep mahogany wood was outfitted with luscious white bedding. Not that Erik was surprised to find Charles' private domain to be equally as refined as the man himself, but seeing it was still impressive.

His feet sunk into the fine weave of the rug under and surrounding the bed as he approached. Gently he laid a knee in the mattress, laying Charles out against the fine, white sheets.

"Let go...," Erik's voice was rough and foreign in the refined surroundings as he pried Charles' hand from his shirt, "I'll turn the light out soon." A low groan sounded from the telepath as his head lolled against the sheets, registering Erik's fingers falling to the buttons of his shirt.

Erik made quick work of the dress shirt buttons, pulling it back to reveal the undershirt beneath. He tried to be gentle in his movements as he pulled the shirt down Charles' arms, rolling the shorter man over onto his side, facing Erik, to divest him of the shirt completely. The shoes were easy, leaving just the belt and trousers behind. He debated for a minute about leaving Charles as he was, silent and unmoving—the poor man really did look miserable, slowly curling up into a ball. He sighed, finally deciding if he'd already gone so far, undressing him the rest of the way wouldn't matter. Charles was bound to be more comfortable, whenever he woke up to realize his discomfort, of course.

An incoherent mumble sounded as Erik slid the two ends of the belt apart, prompting him to turn to Charles' face. It was astonishing how much younger the man looked with his face in tight, pained lines beneath the threat of losing consciousness. Erik had the irresistible urge to card his fingers soothingly through the soft-looking tresses adorning the man's forehead. He startled himself by not knowing where that urge stemmed from.

Forcing such thoughts away, he undid the catch on the trousers, dropping his other knee on the mattress to work them over the man's hips and painstakingly down his legs. If he never undressed a semi-conscious person again, it would be too soon.

"Almost there, Charles." Again he didn't know why he bothered to soothe the man in bed, knowing the man probably wasn't lucid enough to understand. He wrenched the covers out from under Charles, helping the man burrow under them as he loosely tucked him in.

"'Thank you." The words came out half garbled, almost those of a small child. A pang shot through Erik's heart as he continued to look down at Charles, pausing his movements to let silence reign. Unable to stop, he reached a hand out, gently caressing the man's wavy brown locks, brushing them off his forehead.

"Feel better Charles." Erik whispered softly, genuinely surprised at his current show of gentleness. "The house just isn't the same when you're not yourself." He leaned over, brushing a kiss to Charles' forehead, another to his cheek before sighing quietly, enjoying one last feel of his fingers in Charles' soft hair before retreating, rising from the bed.

A crack of thunder filled the room, rattling the windows in their stone foundations. Erik couldn't help but smile at the rather pitiful, muffled, annoyed whine from the younger man in bed.

"Good luck trying to sleep through this." Erik commented lazily, watching the dark window panes flash a brilliant white.

"Damn storm." Charles grumbled almost incoherently over the rumble of thunder that followed.

"Maybe from now on you'll take it a little easier on Cerebro, hmm?" Silence greeted Erik's words as his eyes continued to linger over the prone, curled form in the white sheets. The longer he continued to gaze down at Charles, the more he found he didn't want to leave. The world outside lit with another bolt of lightning, suddenly plunging the room into pitch black. Gone was the warm, soft glow of the bedroom light, leaving only blinding darkness.

"Well that's perfect….you wouldn't happen to have a flashlight would you?" Erik felt pretty sure he already knew the answer, absently wondering how he would make it down the hallway and up the stairs to his room. He squinted as another bolt of lightning flashed through the room, blinding him before the darkness resumed. Thunder cracked violently in its wake as the wind pelted the rain against the windows in an endless stream.

"Ju'stay." Came the faint words from the telepath out of the darkness, causing the metal manipulator to freeze, unsure.

"Just stay..? Here with you all night?" His gentle tone from earlier resumed, surprised to find he was actually relieved to hear Charles voice the idea.

"…sleep." Erik still wasn't sure how Charles hadn't passed out yet, or if he was even in a coherent enough state of mind to know what he was suggesting. Erik grimaced at another flash of lightening, yet again rendering him temporarily blind in the darkness, further making him doubt he could actually make it back to his own room without hurting himself. Absently he turned, disoriented in such blackness as he took steps forward, seeking out the nearest chair or bench that he glimpsed earlier.

"Scheisse." He hissed under his breath, reaching to absently rub his shin where he just walked into the closest piece of unknown furniture.

"Why're'n't you bed?...noise." Erik turned back in the direction of the mellow, sleepy voice, fighting back some retort about the noises he made versus the storm raging outside. He used the next flash of lightening to maneuver around the bed, bracing a hand against the bed posters to aid his movements. Without thinking or caring, he reached for the hem of his turtleneck, pulling it up and over his head, dropping it carelessly to the floor. His slacks followed next, squinting in the flash of bright light, ready to close his eyes for the rest of the storm.

Wordlessly, Erik slid beneath the covers, relaxing back against the mattress and closest pillow with a sigh. Charles' sheets were downright sinful in their soft luxury. Never before had Erik felt such fine, high-thread count cotton against his scarred skin. No wonder the telepath's skin always looked so soft and irresistibly touchable if he slept ensconced in such finery each night. Erik's mind started to slip off to sleep, not troubled by the storm raging around him. A low, frustrated groan reached his ears rousing him to crack an eye.

"Damn bright." Came the whined words from his companion who hadn't bothered to move since Erik helped him under the covers.

"Roll over then." Erik answered, letting his eye fall closed, waiting for the telltale jarring of the bed as Charles moved. But only silence reigned.

"Much'ffort." If it wasn't adorably amusing to hear the ever eloquent Charles reduced to broken, fragmented sentences, Erik would have been thoroughly annoyed with the man. He had no tolerance for people who couldn't handle their pain to solve their own problems. But maybe he was jut biased.

Rolling over to prop himself on an elbow, Erik reached a hand to Charles' left shoulder and the other around to his right arm. In a relatively fluid motion, he rolled Charles onto his back and finally over onto the man's left arm. In a brief flash of lightening, Erik glimpsed Charles' wrenched-shut eyes, hearing the telepath's feeble, garbled protests.

"Charles, shut up," Erik firmly instructed, "you're not facing the window anymore, it won't be bright. Go to sleep." He resituated the covers, leaving Charles ample slack if he wanted to cover his head, pulling up his own side, sinking back into the plush comfort. Gradually, slowly, Erik felt the mattress shift as Charles inched closer. Warmth radiated from the telepath as he buried his face into Erik's side, snuggling more into the covers. Erik almost couldn't fight a roll of his eyes, nor the tug of a smile as he reached his right arm around to loosely hold Charles to him.

X

Gradually Charles became aware of the warmth, most of it radiating from his leg entangled with another. Though where always smooth and hairless in the past, this one was not. His right arm felt almost numb under a weight that he wasn't expecting. Sluggishly he tried to free it, feeling it slide against the layers of soft fabric before flopping to rest atop a bony shoulder.

His blue eyes opened to instantly settle on Erik's face, its usual serious lines relaxed in sleep. The room was bathed in gray hues of cloudy, early light, making the white sheets seem twice as bright. He did remember asking Erik to stay with him. But he honestly hadn't expected Erik to say yes, much less stay through until dawn. Charles' eyes fell to his hand that had landed accidentally to Erik's shoulder. It must have been stuck under Erik's pillow, weighed down by the man's head until he freed it. He sighed quietly in his post-sleep haze, letting his eyes temporarily close and head sink further into the pillow.

He opened them shortly after, just regarding the man next to him. Charles couldn't be sure he had or would ever again see Erik looking so peaceful. All the hatred and anger he harbored just washed away under the guise of sleep. Charles let his eyes follow the curve of the metal-manipulator's strong jaw to his chin, and down his throat, following the defined collarbone to where his hand idly rested. That's when he noticed the pale trails of assorted scars; some sharp and precise, others jagged and haphazard. There weren't many for Charles for view, but the few he saw were enough to send a chill down Charles' spine despite his toasty surroundings.

Without warning, a deep breath issued from Erik as he shifted against the pillow, his head turning to face Charles, eyes still closed. Charles again let his eyes drift close, just enjoying the peaceful morning after such a horrific storm and splitting headache. When next his eyes drifted open, he instantly met with the storm gray of his bedmate.

"Feeling better?" Erik's voice was deep and low, thick with the last tendrils of sleep.

"Much better," Charles' voice matched in quality, a small smile coming to his face, "thank you for…everything."

"Just please don't make episodes like last night a regular occurrence." Erik couldn't stop a small smile at Charles' sleepy laugh.

"Trust me, I didn't enjoy it any more than you," Charles snuggled more against the pillow, knowing it must be too early to actually get up, not bothering to remove his hand from Erik's shoulder, "did the power ever come back on?"

"At some point," Erik offhandedly answered, "I woke up and the light was on."

"You turned it off?"

"Mmmhmm." The sound rumbled low from Erik's chest, relaxing Charles further back into the covers.

"I was sure I would wake to find you gone." A small smile curved about Charles' face.

"Would you like me to leave?" Erik's voice sounded as distant and lazy as Charles', both men on the verge of falling back asleep.

"No, my friend," Charles slid his hand down, following the length of Erik's arm as it lay draped against his slim, defined torso until he settled on the metal-manipulator's hand, "you can stay as long as you want." The last thing Charles remembered was feeling those slim, powerful fingers ensnare his own.

**xxx**

**Only two more chapters to go…Comments? Criticisms? All are appreciated! Thanks again! **


	5. Spaniels Association

**Flo des bois – Your review is heartwarming and most encouraging. I had the most fun with that last chapter, and it's been the least well received. I'm thrilled you're continuing to like the story! The end is in sight, and then I'm stepping back to evaluate my writing & see if it's a hobby I should keep pursuing. Though I've already started an outline for a "Thor" fic about Loki…we'll see. **

**Continued thanks to those who keep discovering the story & adding it to favorite/alerts! It's always exciting to know people want to read your work. **

**I've been laid up with surgery wounds and pain medication, so I apologize for the brevity of this chapter. Please enjoy!**

**Notes on this chapter:  
>None! <strong>

**xxx**

**Chapter 5: Spaniels Association **

**Along Comes Mary – The Association**

"So Raven, do tell," Alex sidled closer to her on the couch with a mischievous smile, careful to keep his voice low, "if you have to divide your focus to maintain an appearance, have you ever lost control during orgasm and changed to your real form?" Hanks' eyebrows shot up to his hairline, choking on his cola as Raven's cheeks flushed, a smug smile coming to her face.

"Why do you want to know, hmm? If you were hoping for a private demonstration, you can forget it." Raven smoothly countered as Alex settled back against the couch cushions with a laugh.

"No, though I do want to hear the answer. Sean bet me five bucks that I wouldn't have the guts to actually ask you."

"Guess you lose." Raven turned to Sean, whose face, alight with an embarrassed smile, was red enough to match his hair.

"But still," Alex continued, casting a glance towards Charles and Erik, who were seemingly engrossed in their chess game, not paying attention to the kids across the room, "will you answer the question? Has it ever happened?" Raven's eyes settled to Hank, who looked a curious mix of embarrassed and intrigued. She bit her lip almost nervously, a smile curving about her face.

"One time…," she admitted with a quick nod of her head, "my first time, probably obviously. I didn't know _exactly _what to expect…and I lost focus." All three guys tried to hide their laughter, but when Raven joined in, smiles exploded across their faces, each relating in their own way.

"I broke a window my first time with a girl," Sean admitted, shaking his head in disbelief, "this girl…she-she didn't listen to me when I told her to stop. Not only did I break the window, but the ringing in her ears didn't stop for weeks. Needless to say, we were never together again." More laughter bubbled up from the group, each enjoying discovering they were not alone. Conversations like this were cathartic, a chance to exorcise the demons they harbored from awkward childhoods.

"You know, we can hear what you all are talking about." Charles' voice, slightly annoyed and certainly authoritative cut through the laughter.

"Oh Charles, please…" Raven started, hoping that Charles wouldn't turn into the old-fart she knew him to be.

"What do you care, Professor X?" Alex countered. "You aren't that much older than we are."

"I would bet you have stories, too." Sean continued, encouraged by those before him.

"Oh do tell, Charles," Erik drawled lazily from across the chessboard, a challenge lurking in his stormy eyes, "or are the girls at Harvard and Oxford not worth anything." Charles bit back a smile, dropping his head with a small, determined shake.

"No…I'm exactly as boring and straight-laced as I appear." Charles retorted, a closed mouth smile on the end of his words.

"Charles, you never were a good liar," Raven scolded, "the best story is, of course, the Oxford Rounder."

"Absolutely not, Raven." Charles quickly scolded, eyes squinting to a warning glare.

"'Oxford Rounder?'" Alex tried out the name, his lips quirked curiously. "What, like a poker player?" Raven laughed, her mischievous smile still in place.

"Charles wishes," she turned to face him momentarily, enjoying his look of discomfort as she turned back to the group. "Her name was Marion, or Marianne, or something similar. Charles was a little far gone at the time, and introductions were brief when he brought her home." Charles could already feel his cheeks starting to flush, biting his lip, annoyed. Nothing about his mood was helped by the metal-manipulator who sat opposite him with a wicked smirk, fingers tented in front of his chest as if expecting to learn some great new facet to Charles' character.

"Though from what I remember about the Marianne-Mary," Raven continued, "she looked something like this." Raven's usually soft-curling blonde locks gave way to shoulder-length, flipped, straight auburn hair. Her face sported striking green eyes, freckles and an intoxicating smile, though a little mousier and pointed than her usual. A form-fitting black dress with white swirls and a sizable front keyhole covered her curvy form and ample bosom, ending in white go-go boots covering her shapely legs. "How does this look, Charles?" Her voice had dropped to a sultry alto, mirroring Charles' posh accent as she regarded the telepath through long, full lashes.

**And then along comes Mary  
>And does she want to give me kicks, and be my steady chick<br>And give me pick of memories  
>Or maybe rather gather tales of all the fails and tribulations<br>No one ever sees **

Every male in the room had turned to glimpse Raven's new appearance as she channeled the girl from Charles' past. Even Erik had turned from Charles, taken aback at the feminine specimen Raven had become.

"Damn, Professor X," Alex whistled, clearly impressed, "you have good taste." An unbidden, embarrassed smile crept to Charles' face.

"Hm yes, thank you, Alex," Charles dismissed quickly, nervously, "alright, Raven…that's really enough." He loosely pleaded, unable to stop his eyes from raking briefly over Raven's new adopted form. He settled back against the chair, watching Erik turn back to face him with an amused light in his ever serious eyes.

"Oh I haven't even started yet, Charles," Raven purred in the foreign voice, a wicked smile curving about her ruby red lips, "it wasn't too terribly long after they retired to Charles' room that the sounds became audible in the living room. And oh, she was loud, wasn't she Charles?"

"Regrettably." The telepath grumbled, trying not to listen to the faint chuckles filling the room. Raven threw her head back as if in the throes of passion, clearly enjoying playing up the drama of the moment at Charles' expense.

"Oh god…oh fu—Charles! Don't stop…," her voice was breathy and rushed, accented by gasps only increasing the embarrassed flush that had overtaken Charles' face, " so much….better!...than my last…professor!" The room exploded in awkward, outburst laughter.

"She was NOT one of my students." Charles quickly clarified over the din, his voice firm, trying to maintain some semblance of his role as a responsible authority figure. Raven couldn't help the smile on her face as Charles continued to glower at her, watching as she transformed back to herself, the damage already done.

"That is true," she conceded, "she wasn't actually one of Charles' students because he never had any. He was just next on her list of the under-50-year-old Oxford professors that she was making the rounds through."

"Oh my god," Alex laughed, his smile wide as he shook his head, turning to Charles, "a rounder…so how did you find out you were just next in line?"

"I am still a telepath, Alex," Charles' voice was all serious, "and just because I prefer to give a lady the benefit of the doubt doesn't mean that I won't do all within my power if she proves me wrong."

"So what'd you do?" Sean asked, looking curiously over at the professor. Charles' eyes locked to Erik's as the older man sat, quietly, mirth evident in the lines of his face.

"I set her off her damned foolish crusade and summarily sent her home. And I have suffered ridicule at Raven's hand ever since." Another bout of laughter went up in the room as Charles shook his head, a mixture of annoyance and acceptance playing across his face.

"Always the nobleman, our gentleman Charles Xavier," Erik lightly prodded, "if she doesn't remember the encounter anyway, did you at least let her get you off?" Charles' eyes zeroed in on Erik's, his brow creasing in surprise.

"Of course not," Charles quickly responded, "I lost all interest after that little slip of her tongue."

**When we met I was sure out to lunch  
>Now my empty cup tastes as sweet as the punch <strong>

"That's not really that bad of a story, then," Hank said, "I mean, not compared to Sean's or Raven's at least. Your Mary-Marian girl walked away better from the encounter than Raven's guy or Sean's girl."

"Hey, if I had been born a telepath, I'd have every girl I wanted and do my part to improve their lives. And have them all desperately in want of me along the way." Sean fantasized, a distant smile coming to his face.

"If I had been born a telepath, I'd have everyone accept me as normal." Raven offered, her tone wistful.

"If you had all been born telepaths, you would face a world of problems and complications only Charles understands," Erik quickly cut in, his voice firm and supportive, "you shouldn't automatically assume having one power is better than having another."

"You wouldn't trade your power, Erik?" Alex asked, casting a contemplative glance towards the back of the metal-manipulator's chair. "Of all the powers you could possibly ever have, you would keep the one you have?"

"Of course," Erik didn't even have to think about it, letting his eyes fall to Charles', drinking in the appreciation and mutual agreement in their clear blue depths, "it's brought me to where I am today. And I wouldn't risk trading any of it on the assumption my life would automatically be better."

xxx

**Goodnight Sweetheart – The Spaniels **

The scotch coursed warmly through his system. He would openly admit to the dulling of his senses and the pleasant swimming sensation that filled his head. Honestly, he couldn't remember the last time he let himself drink so much. And really, he wasn't terribly concerned that he had consumed so much by himself. He had reasoned through it, after all—the boys were too young (and didn't need to see their authority figure sloshed); he didn't need to keep Raven up to witness yet another episode of his drinking escapades; and Erik probably wouldn't have been too amused at wasting time so frivolously.

So here he was, walking on woozily legs towards the kitchen, hoping to find a midnight snack. Midnight? Try 2:41 am. He snorted an undignified laugh as he flipped on the light switch and glanced at the clock. When had it gotten so late? Not that he particularly cared right now. He reached for the nearest cabinet, pulling it open to reveal neatly stacked plates and cups. He froze at his own bad decision making and closed the cabinet door with a louder bang that he intended. The kitchen was too quiet.

He scanned the counters, eyes quickly landing on the object he sought. He reached for the knob, watching and hearing the radio come to life, filling the kitchen with a mellow, slow song. He found his head gently swaying to the romantic tune.

**Goodnight sweetheart, well it's time to go  
>Goodnight sweater, well it's time to go<br>I hate to leave you, but I really must say  
>Oh, goodnight sweetheart, goodnight. <strong>

Slowly, as if he had an invisible partner, Charles danced to music across the kitchen to the pantry, opening the door as if spinning out a partner. He leaned against the door, letting his hips and body move in time with the music as he perused the pantry's contents.

"Charles?" He instantly froze, turning to regard a rather dressed down Erik—black pajama pants and white undershirt—standing in the doorway, looking back with a small, curious smile.

"Ah, Erik. Good morning to you." Charles returned with a smile, no hint of a slur in his posh accent despite the amount of alcohol in his system.

"Good morning yourself…," Erik took a few more tentative steps into the kitchen, still seemingly trying to decide if his friend had indeed lost his mind, "you do know what time is it, right?"

"Of course, 2:41….err, 4 actually." Charles corrected with a quick glance at the clock before settling back to Erik. Charles found his eyes transfixed to the hairs that hung loose over Erik's forehead; such a loose look for the usually tight-wound mutant. Slowly, with a laugh, as if solving his great mystery, Erik's face widened into an amused smile.

"Your drunk off your ass, aren't you?"

"You betcha." The words rolled playfully off Charles' tongue, followed by a proud smile before he turned back to the pantry. "And I'm hungry." Erik let loose a deep, melodious laugh to fill the small kitchen, and Charles couldn't help but notice just how beautiful a sound it was.

"So why the radio? You just felt like dancing…without a partner?" Erik asked, evident mirth warming his tone. Charles turned with a near coy smile back over his shoulder to regard the older man.

"I'm not alone anymore…and if I recall, you still haven't been asked for a dance yet." Erik's eyes widened in realization, his smile dropping away as he leveled Charles with a warning glare.

"No, Charles." Charles turned from the pantry, his quest for food momentarily forgotten.

"Oh come on, you have no reason to say no, never mind the 'worthy occasion' talk."

"You're drunk, let's start with that."

"Have I slurred a word? Have I run into anything or fallen over?" Charles had always prided himself on his ability to handle his alcohol, knowing just how far he could push himself before he got in trouble. "Come on…I'll even let you lead." Erik froze as Charles approached, annoyance wrinkling his chiseled face, but finding himself unable to pull away. The telepath smelled of scotch and faint traces of cologne, his skin deliciously flushed from the alcohol, his blue eyes bright as ever.

Without further ado, Charles reached for Erik's hand, wrapping his other around Erik's shoulder to pull him in close. Slowly he started to move, gradually coaxing Erik to move with him, feeling the other man's hand reluctantly wrap around his waist, all while reading the mix of seething embarrassment and annoyance the metal-manipulator's face.

**Well its three o'clock in the morning  
>Baby, I just can't treat you right<br>Well I hate to leave you baby, don't mean maybe  
>Because I love you so<strong>

Erik surprised himself by relaxing into the dance as they continued to move, finding the pull in Charles' eyes intoxicatingly magnetic. If he didn't know better, he'd swear Charles was controlling him to force this dance. But he knew he could never make that excuse. Truth was, there just wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be. Waking from nightmares always set him in unusual moods, and as he had traveled around in his hunt for vengeance, finding any peaceful relief afterwards was impossible. But with all that he had shared with the man now in his arms—from the ocean rescue, to the satellite dish and subsequent billiards snog; the afternoon on the study couch with scotch and cigarettes, and now this early morning dance—Erik was growing to realize the only place any semblance of peace existed was somewhere deep in those honest, clear blue eyes.

"Charles…you're leading." Erik commented absently, remembering the man's earlier words.

"Oh, sorry about that. Force of habit…" Erik's arm tightened around Charles' waist, drawing him in closer as if to stifle Charles' tendency to lead. "You know, you dance quite well for someone who claims to never have danced before."

"There's a difference between being asked for a dance and knowing how to dance."

**Now, my mother and my father,  
>Might hear if I stay here too long,<br>One kiss and we'll part.**

"So what are you doing up this late?" Charles asked as they continued to move together.

"Couldn't sleep."

"So you thought some warm milk with honey, perhaps?" Erik laughed softly, an amused smile coming to his face.

"That's a new one. I was actually searching out something stronger." Charles' brow furrowed in disappointment.

"You shouldn't have waited so long, my friend. We could have had a nightcap together—we still can."

"I think you've had enough, Charles." A yummy laugh bubbled on Erik's words as he held Charles imperceptibly tighter.

"Probably…and I'm still hungry." The finishing notes of the saxophone drifted between them as Erik glided to a stop, his smile taking on a playful mischievous edge. Without warning, he turned and bent his body, dipping Charles back in a graceful move. Warm, amused laughter filled the kitchen from the younger man, his crystalline eyes beautifully alight.

"Goodnight sweetheart." Erik closed the space between them, sealing his lips to Charles', smiling to feel the other man return his kiss.

_You're not alone. Erik, you're not alone._

**xxx**

**One more chapter to go. Look for a ratings increase. Bad move, don't change? Excited for change? Any and all comments are most welcome! I enjoy reading what y'all think. **


	6. Bing Thomas

**Flo des bois – Given Charles' bar antics presented in the film, he was bound to have a good, embarrassing story about a failed rendezvous, so I'm glad you liked it! And I didn't mean for it to come across that Charles got drunk in Chapter 4 (he was drinking to relax), so I do apologize for that on my part. But since Charles was lamenting his recent dry spell on both drinking & sex, and got neither laid, nor drunk in Chapter 4, I figured he needed to indulge in one of the two for Chapter 5. **

**I apologize for the slight delay: chalk it up to Christmas crazies and major re-writes/edits. I was feeling Christmas-y, and wanted to change the direction of this chapter last minute! I'm such a sucker for romance (even if it's not perfect) at Christmas time…hope this chapter delivers! But if it disappoints, I do apologize & give my assurance that you won't be hearing about another story from me for a while. **

**The number of growing alerts & favorites for this story continue to be overwhelming—I'm absolutely thrilled!**

**Warnings: language & a sexual scene  
><strong>

**Notes on this chapter:**

**1. While still inspired by 60's music, this will include the following two songs in one segment:  
>White Christmas – Bing Crosby<br>Gee Whiz, It's Christmas – Carla Thomas  
>2. I enjoyed the seasonal celebration research for this chapter. <strong>

**xxx**

_**December 24, 1962**_

**I'm dreaming of a white Christmas  
>Just like the ones I used to know<br>Where the treetops glisten  
>And children listen<br>To hear sleigh bells in the snow **

Charles had long decided the cognac tasted of oaken vanilla. It was an extra old vintage, something he would have rarely indulged in. But this was a special occasion. This was Christmas Eve. A time for families to gather for celebration and cheer. A time to look forward to the start of a new year.

Charles' hand clenched tighter around the glass at the thought, his bright eyes drinking in the colored lights on the tree. The boys had done a decent job of stringing the garland and lights, making sure all the gaps were filled with ornaments. A few presents were scattered under the tree, nothing big or extravagant. A smile tugged at the corners of Charles' lips as he raised his glass for a sip.

The log cracked and popped in the fireplace, issuing more inviting heat into the otherwise unoccupied study. Snow was gently falling outside, contrasting to the cozy setting Charles found himself in. It was indeed the perfect setting. But as he continued to sit, he longed for the one thing it was missing—company.

Sean and Alex hadn't been expecting Charles to generously fund Christmas trips home, but they should have expected the telepath to pick up on their homeward longings. Hank had been generally grumpy and withdrawn in the weeks leading up to the holiday, spending most of his time secluded away. No one had bothered to ask him about it, respecting his obvious desire for privacy. And so Charles found himself alone on Christmas Eve, the radio playing softly in the background.

At first he'd thought he would get rid of the radios upon returning to the mansion sans Raven. But after hearing the pleas from the boys, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He'd even grown to regard them fondly, as if keeping them around made Raven's absence more of a temporary situation instead of permanent. But what he wouldn't give to see her now. He hadn't heard a word from her since that day in Cuba on the beach. Did she even know about his decreased mobility?

That was how he had to think about it. All those words the doctors used—paraplegic, handicapped, disabled—were too finite. In Charles' mind, they bespoke no hope, no chance at ever walking again. Yes, he knew the odds were slim to none, but he refused to give up completely. He just couldn't add that to his list of losses for 1962.

The cognac warmed its way down his throat as he sighed softly.

**I'm dreaming of a white Christmas  
>With every Christmas card I write<br>May your days be merry and bright  
>And may all your Christmases be white <strong>

Surprisingly, he'd found losing Raven wasn't as hard as he originally thought. He had indeed known for a while of her growing discontent with their situation, unable to reconcile everything about who she was. Erik's arrival in their lives only seemed to further that schism, and Charles couldn't hold a grudge against her for choosing the option that made her happy. Even if that option wasn't him.

_Erik._

Charles felt his throat constrict on the name, finding that out of everyone—it was the metal manipulator he longed to see most. To set the record straight, bury the hatchet, come to an understanding. Charles couldn't place his finger on just what exactly would be accomplished in a visit with the man, but he knew it needed to happen. And he knew it would, in time. With the paths they had each chosen, they were bound to collide at some point. Charles, for his part, could do nothing but wait.

He finished off the remnants of his drink, idly wondering if he would even see Hank at all tomorrow. Hank knew both he and Charles were alone in the estate. But somehow Charles got the feeling that if Hank wanted company, he'd be here now sharing a drink with Charles. Absently he set the empty glass in the crook of his thighs, reaching for the wheels of his chair. Smoothly he rolled over to the nearest table, content enough to settle for another glass of cognac, take in the firelight and listen to the merry sounds of the season.

**Hello there  
>Merry Christmas, how've you been?<br>Gee, it's so-o- good to talk to you again  
>It's been a long, long time<br>Can't explain why you crossed my mind  
>I guess it's just to wish you a Merry Christmas <strong>

A cold breeze whipped through the study, making the hair on the back of Charles' neck stand up as he heard solid steps crunch in freshly fallen snow on the balcony before landing on the hardwood. The click of the door latch was nearly silent in the room as Charles let his eyes fall to his newly arrived visitor, heart jumping in his chest.

"Didn't bother to knock?" Charles asked at length, feeling his lips curl in a small smile.

"Would you have let me in?" The man's voice was still as smooth as Charles remembered.

"You know I would have, Erik." Charles longed to get a good look at Erik's face, drink in those stormy eyes, but he couldn't make out much in the low light beneath the man's helmet.

"No, I don't. I'm not the telepath." Erik tore himself from Charles' gaze, bending over to remove his snow-covered boots. Charles felt a laugh bubble up, but quickly suppressed it as he studied the upgrades Erik had made to Shaw's helmet. The color was one thing, but what purpose did the little horns adorning the front serve? He left his glass on the table, rolling away, watching Erik proceed to unbutton his coat.

"Isn't that a touch garish and dramatic for your tastes?" Charles had to ask, indicating the helmet, watching Erik's eyes snap to his from under the protective red metal.

"It gets the job done."

"I will admit I'm saddened to see you still wearing it," Charles found himself unable to tear away, watching Erik as he moved more into the room, drinking in every inch of the man's tall, svelte form, "after all this time, you still can't bring yourself to trust me."

"It has nothing to do with trust, Charles." Erik's hands fell to either side of his helmet, slowly lifting it off and resting it on the nearest table. Charles' heart melted to finally get a good look at his friend, smiling at the man's matted, helmet hair, noting the few strands loose over his forehead. His eyes roamed over the chiseled lines of the man's face, settling to those stormy gray eyes he knew he could fall into.

Quickly Erik turned from Charles' gaze, his face wrinkling in pained, guilty lines as he walked slowly over to the couch, shedding his coat.

"Planning to stay for a bit?" Charles asked, hoping to draw the man out. It was he who dropped in unannounced after all. Surely he had a reason.

"Until you want me to leave," Erik answered, draping his coat on the back of the couch, "though I get the feeling Azazel will be otherwise engaged for some time tonight."

"Is he off with family?" Charles asked quickly, somehow finding it an odd concept, and not sure why.

"No," something of a wry smirk came to Erik's face, "he's off with Mystique."

"Off with Raven?" Charles' eyes widened on his words, surprised at such news of his longtime friend and sister. "I thought she was after you."

"What can I say…Azazel swept her right off her feet."

"Oh that's bad, Erik." Charles dismissed with a shake of his head, licking his lips in the ensuing silence, finding his eyes drift back Erik's all black-clad figure as he stood staring into the fire, as if debating what to say next.

**It's been a long, long time  
>cant' explain why you crossed my mind<br>I guess it's just to say gee whiz it's Christmas**

Erik finally turned back, as if having found the strength, letting his eyes fall to study the wheelchair. A pang tore through his heart as he scanned it over, feeling his throat constrict. Sure Azazel had told him all about it on the trips Erik had sent him on during Charles' recovery, but actually seeing the professor reduced to such a state was more heart-wrenching than he had imagined.

"You were wrong about me," Erik started softly, "only a monster would do something so unforgivable to someone so honorable." Charles' face upturned in a small sneer of disgust.

"Don't sanctify me so, please. It was an accident—if it hadn't been the bullet, who's to say it wouldn't have been the car up the street." Erik shook his head dismissively, stepping closer.

"Don't say those things, Charles. You have to be angry, you have to be bitter. And you certainly can't be forgiving when I haven't yet apologized."

"Is that why you came?" Charles' eyes narrowed, trying to understand the emotion in Erik's eyes.

"Not entirely." Erik's eyes moved from Charles' to the Christmas tree, as if looking away would change the conversation. "I hadn't expected to find you alone."

"If I hadn't been, I'm sure the others would have forcibly removed you. Or tried, at the very least. It should come as no surprise they're not overly fond of you anymore."

"It doesn't." Erik's face suddenly hardened, his gaze zeroing in on the table set next to the Christmas tree. Charles watched the man's jaw clench, a hard swallow working its way down his throat. "Charles," his voice held a barely contained note of displeasure, "why do you have a menorah lit? You and the boys aren't—"

"No," Charles cut him off suddenly, watching Erik's tense form, "it's for the little boy who used to believe in the joy of the season and his mother." Erik's eyes were murderous as he turned back to face the telepath.

"How dare you think to fucking _mock_—"

"When you opened your mind to me that day at the satellite dish, and let me access your memories, you allowed me to carry that memory as my own. I meant what I said—it was a poignantly beautiful moment from your childhood, and it's quite a beautiful celebration as I've come to discover." Charles let his eyes fall to the five glowing candles of the menorah with something of a sad smile. "From what I know of you, you've made your peace with God over the events of your life, and if you're going to forgo centuries of tradition, then I take it upon myself to uphold them in the name of those who love you."

Erik forced his eyes shut on Charles' words, doing everything in his power to stave off the threatening tears. This marked the second time in all the years since his mother's death that he had actually cried or come to close it. And both times at Charles' doing. Guilt and longing wrenched through Erik's chest as he sniffed, swallowing to clear this throat, letting his eyes open to settle back to the five glowing candles.

"I don't have a gift for you, I'm sorry to say," Charles continued, "though from my understanding, that's more an American tradition imposed on Hanukkah celebrations." Erik shook his head in disbelief, his eyes heavy with remorse.

"You are too good to be true, do you know that?" Erik raised a hand to his brow, turning from Charles as if nursing a headache. Wordlessly, Charles watched Erik drop to sit on the sofa, his head hanging low between his shoulders, hand falling away. Swallowing a heartbreaking pain, Charles wheeled over, stopping just in front of the couch, studying his friend's face in the firelight. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, the man looked just the same as he did that day on the beach, still so handsome.

"You look good," Charles commented absently, feeling a smile tug at his lips "plotting to destroy humanity must agree with you."

"No jokes, Charles, please," Erik said, his eyes falling heavily to Charles, "not now. I get enough from Angel and Raven."

"Ah yes, Raven is fond of making light of what she can." Charles did his best to hide the note of longing on his voice as he spoke. But something in Erik's eyes told him he had failed.

"I know you must miss her." Charles nodded his head shortly, feeling a catch in his throat and not trusting his voice right away.

"This has been the first of many Christmases I find myself just…alone," Charles started, "I expected to be a lot older before I faced such a Christmas. But lots of things this year haven't turned out as I would have expected." Silence fell as Erik tore his eyes from Charles, unmistakable guilt filling their gray depths as they settled to the metal of Charles' chair.

"You should have let me drown that day." Erik's voice was soft, pained.

"Absolutely not," Charles shot back, his voice firm in its conviction, "your life is worth more than my mobility. You didn't end my life on the beach, regardless of what you think. It's been an adjustment, yes—but not insurmountable. It's helped me understand what's really valuable in life. "

"And what is really valuable in life?" Erik let his eyes meet Charles', overcome by their bright color and wanting so desperately to right all the wrongs he caused.

"Relationships, people. Never take the people in your life for granted."

"How can you say that? When two of your closest friends—one family, even—abandoned and left you for naught."

"The same way I don't give up on humanity—hope. The belief, however small, that someday things can change," Charles wanted desperately to be closer to Erik, "you're being here now only validates that hope."

"My being here changes nothing. You shouldn't hold out any hope for me, my friend. You don't need more disappointment and heartache at my expense."

"I will never give up hope for you, my friend." Charles watched Erik shake his head, as if with a sad sigh, turning away. Erik just couldn't fathom how someone who lost so much still managed to keep hope alive.

"You truly are something else, Charles Xavier." Erik said at length, watching Charles move out of the corner of his eye. Slowly he turned his head back to face the telepath, noticing Charles had moved his chair up to the edge of the couch. He watched, silently impressed, as Charles braced his arms on a combination of the wheelchair and couch, easily lifting and swinging himself onto the couch. He scooted back against the cushion, before moving his hands to his knees to pull each leg in place underneath him. Charles sighed lightly in completion of the task, smoothing out his cardigan as he turned to Erik with a small smile, drowning in Erik's eyes.

"You commented on my physique back in October…you think were impressed then, you should see it now." Charles felt a flush rise to his cheeks as he turned to the fireplace, hoping turning from Erik would lessen it.

"Raven will be glad to hear how well you've adjusted," Erik said softly, "she's worried about you more than she lets on."

"And what about you?" Charles asked, forcing himself to look back at Erik, his face serious, almost pleading. "You've told me all these things about Raven, but she's not here…you are." Erik suddenly felt his mouth go dry, on the verge of actually saying what he came to say.

"I wasn't lying that day on the beach, Charles. I've never stopped wanting you by my side, no matter how much your misguided set of principles infuriates me. If I had your ability, I wouldn't hesitate to change your mind. But that's what exactly why I can't let you go." Erik licked his lips, biting them in frustration, his eyes closing. "You're…you're too damn noble, naïve, hopeful, honest…everything I could never dream of being. Here we sit—my mind bared for your plundering if you so choose, and yet despite everything between us, you hold to your promise."

"I will never break it. I can't afford to lose you completely…." Charles' voice trailed off, torn at the pained look on Erik's face.

"You remain the only person I have ever so openly trusted. Only with you have I ever glimpsed the possibility of peace, the chance that maybe I am deserving of a normal life."

"You are deserving of so much more than you give yourself credit. If only you would see that."

"I know I don't deserve you." Erik's voice held a note of finality as he tore his gaze from Charles'.

"Don't be so quick to judge," Charles scolded, "you've given me some of my happiest memories in this house." Erik scoffed a dark laugh.

"Ending with the day you realized you'd never see the second floor again."

"Starting with our chess games, and each subsequent one. Discovering your penchant for vodka martinis—you know, I still can't fathom how you can walk away from a good scotch, and willingly choose _vodka_." Erik loved the disgusted wrinkle of Charles' nose over the word in the firelight.

"You said it yourself, I have no taste." A low laugh sounded in Charles' throat, guilt rising in Erik's chest as it made him realize he wanted nothing more than to hear it every day. He shouldn't want this man after everything he had done.

"I won't question your taste again if it keeps bringing you back." Charles' smile widened in the firelight.

"There was that one scotch brand—which you never named—that afternoon in your study."

"When you accused me of hiding some impossibly sexy woman within the room's confines?"

"I didn't accuse you, I merely inquired."

"And what would you have done with her had the answer been 'yes'?" Charles had to ask.

"I would have sent her away so I could have you to myself." A small, wolfish smile grew on Erik's face, sending a rush of heat through Charles' body.

"And that's exactly how the afternoon played out…you had me all to yourself."

"I still think about that afternoon…" Erik confessed quietly, with a light shake of his head, as if unable to believe it. "It was the closest I have ever come to knowing true contentment." Charles had to get closer to Erik, unable to stand it any longer. He reached for the man's right arm, pulling it up to rest against the couch cushions as he leaned over, situating himself under Erik's arm, snuggling up against his warm torso. Erik's hand wrapped around Charles' shoulder, holding the telepath close against him, tightening in a desperate hold, as if to convince himself Charles was really here, letting Erik just hold him.

"Well let's see if we can't help you add another such memory…the night's still young after all," Charles voice was soft in their mimicked hold from that afternoon long ago in October, "and frankly, Azazel can have Raven all he wants, if it leaves you here all to myself." Erik couldn't stop the turn of his head, leaning forward to rest his forehead and nose against the side of Charles' head, inhaling the scent of Charles' soft hair. He wanted nothing more than to have this man forever in his life, hating the sting of guilt it brought for being so selfish.

"I hate myself for loving you. But I can't stop, no matter how much I hurt you." Charles turned his head on Erik's words until their foreheads touched, nuzzling the other man's nose as their breaths mingled.

"Then what does that say about me? If I can't stop loving you through the hurt." Erik's lips quirked in the faintest hint of an overjoyed smile.

"Sounds like you're a glutton for punishment." An amused breath left Charles, his lips pulling to a barely contained smile of anticipation.

"Only at your hand."

"Hand, heart…everything." Erik tilted his head forward, his lips landing solidly against Charles', drinking in the younger man's content sigh. Electricity spread through Charles' body at the simple contact, drawing in a deep breath through parted lips as he returned the kiss. God, yes; this was what his life had been missing, loving the smooth glide of Erik's lips against his own. Charles took Erik's bottom lip between his, sucking lightly, hardening against the confines of his trousers at the groan in Erik's throat.

Erik's right hand tightened on Charles' shoulder, attempting to pull them closer together. Charles whimpered through the kiss as Erik's tongue pushed forward into his mouth, increasing the neediness of their embrace. Charles' right hand rose to cup Erik's cheek, holding him close as they continued to devour each other. Deep, hot strokes dissolved into a series of short, rushed, kisses as each man panted welcome, relieved breaths.

"Why didn't we do this seriously back in October," Charles bemoaned, "back when I could jump you properly."

"You're perfect, Charles. I wouldn't have you any other way. And I wasn't playing around—entirely—that afternoon in the billiards room." Erik's hand rose to Charles' cheek, mirroring the telepath's hold, his thumb tracing down the cheekbone as blue met gray, eyes alight with fulfilled, flushed smiles.

Charles stretched his neck forward, letting his lips gently return to Erik's. Eyes closed in bliss at reconnecting with the other, each reveling in just being together. Slowly, teasingly, Charles' hand slid from Erik's cheek, down over his racing pulse and across the smooth, hard plain of his chest before fisting in the fabric of the turtleneck.

"You're too far away." Charles' voice was husky through the kiss, words accented by a forcible tug. Erik growled at the possessive tone in Charles' words, his hand trailing from Charles' cheek down the defined line of the man's right shoulder, settling to the flexed bicep connected to the hand still clutching his shirt.

"You weren't joking, were you…." The words left Erik on a rushed breath as he squeezed the muscle, feeling the younger man's amused chuckle vibrate against his lips.

"No; now you better fucking get over here." Erik shifted closer, aided by another hard tug from Charles' hand.

"You don't have to hold me hostage….," Erik didn't think twice about sinking his right knee into the couch, swinging the other across Charles' legs and straddling the man's thighs.

"If you get to hold me hostage when I have something you want, then I get to do likewise when you something I want." Charles' left hand rose to Erik's hip, joined by his other as they slid around to grasp the globes of Erik's ass. Charles wanted to drown in Erik's dilated, glazed eyes as he pulled Erik close against him, forcing their growing erections together. Erik groaned at the contact, eyes falling closed as his forehead fell to Charles', rolling his hips downward to increase the friction. The sounds in Charles' throat as he continued to move were enough to make Erik never want to leave the couch.

"I didn't know how much feeling you had left below the waist…." Erik's words came through needy breaths as the two men continued to touch.

"Just enough, thank God," Charles' words were equally as breathy, "they tell me I could even still have children someday."

"You better not," Erik growled possessively, running his nose along the curve of Charles' face, inhaling his scent as he settled over the man's racing pulse, "you belong to me." He closed his mouth over the soft skin, feeling Charles arch up into him. An undignified whine issued from Charles' throat as Erik sucked and nipped, his blue eyes sinking closed in bliss. There was nothing more he wanted out of life than the man before him, his hands roaming down the length of Erik's torso. He skimmed the leather of the belt that hid the hem of the turtleneck, not hesitating to pull the black fabric free. The catch in Erik's breath as Charles' fingers dipped beneath, brushing against the searing, taught skin of the man's stomach only encouraged him further.

Erik couldn't get enough of Charles' skin, loving the younger man's wanton whine as he nipped a particularly sensitive patch behind his ear. His hands settled to the front of Charles' cardigan, desperately seeking out buttons, longing to touch Charles as he was being touched. His hands lost the will to move, overcome as Charles' fingers crept higher on his clothed chest, teasingly circling before pinching a sensitive nipple.

"God Erik…" Charles gasped as the other man bit down hard in response, hips grinding against Charles'. Impatiently, Charles withdrew his hand, grasping the free hem of Erik's shirt and lifting it up, regretting the loss of contact when Erik pulled back to allow its full removal. Charles' eyes wandered down the full expanse of Erik's exposed torso shadowed from the fireplace across the room. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the newly exposed skin, trailing kisses against the hard plain of Erik's chest before settling to the pink nub he just teased with his fingers. Erik was drowning in the sensation of Charles' lips and tongue, fighting to stay focused on undressing the telepath to join him.

"You wear too many damn clothes…" Erik grumbled, finally freeing the last of the cardigan's buttons and shoving it off the man's shoulders as Charles continued peppering kisses across Erik's chest, collar bone, straining to reach his neck.

"You're making fast enough work of them." Charles returned carelessly as he latched onto Erik's collar bone, kissing and suckling the skin, feeling Erik harden further against him. Erik's fingertips were surprisingly cool to the touch as the buttons of Charles' dress shirt fell free, exposing his skin to the metal-manipulator's hungry gaze. No time was wasted exploring the newly exposed skin, fingertips grazing, feeling out ribs and muscles. Erik's eyes fell to the jagged scar Charles had showed him once before, letting his lips fall over the mark as if to erase it.

Charles let his head loll back against the couch, drawing a breath of heavy air, lost to the assault of Erik's hands, lips, hips. His hands traced around the waist of Erik's trousers, fingertips casually brushing the hardness contained within. Erik's lips fell back to Charles', tongues meeting, twisting and tasting as Charles deftly undid Erik's belt and threw open the catch on his pants.

"Fuck Charles…" Erik groaned into Charles' mouth, body stiffening as the telepath's fingers wrapped around him, teasing him through fabric of his briefs.

"Isn't that the idea?" Charles' voice was husky and alluring, the words swallowed by Erik's lips as his hips started thrusting into Charles' hand, desperate for more. God, he was so achingly hard; he bit his lip in concentration, fighting not to come too soon. But dammit, nothing had ever felt so right as Charles' hand stroking him, or Charles' lips against his own.

Erik's hands traced the lines of Charles' torso down to his belt, swiftly ripping the ends apart and parting the fabric to free the younger man's straining erection. Charles' mouth fell slack, a moan escaping him as Erik dipped beneath his briefs, groaning likewise at the throbbing heat he found. Charles wasted no time in following suit, delving beneath Erik's last barrier, letting his fingers swirl and lightly pinch the head, smearing the clear liquid pooled there. Each man's breathing kicked up a notch, the air growing heavier, muskier as each man continued to melt into the other's touch, just craving.

"Over…at the desk…" Charles breathed at length, fighting for mental clarity in the midst of such heated passion.

"Ambitious, hmm?" Erik purred, moving his hand up Charles' hard length with purpose. "But why go there when I already have you here?"

"No, you idiot," Charles breathed, applying a teasingly sharp pinch, "over at the desk…top drawer on the left. You'll find a jar of lotion."

"Why do you assume I'm getting up?" Erik pulled back just far enough to drink in Charles' glazed, blue depths, licking his pink, swollen lips in anticipation. "You are too delectable to let go of."

"Because I don't prefer chafing." Erik couldn't stop the smile on his face, learning forward to seal his lips to Charles, unable to believe he actually had this adorable, honorable man all to himself. He never would have guessed himself so lucky.

"I always knew you were the woman of the house." Erik quickly rose from Charles' lap with an amused smile as Charles glared up at him, his lips quirked amusedly.

"Let us not forget how good you look in a dress," Charles called out, hearing the scrape of drawer against the desk frame, "it would have been much easier to undress you had you been wearing a dress actually."

"You didn't seem to have any trouble." Erik rounded the couch, drinking in the sight of Charles before him—shirt spread, chest bared, trousers temptingly undone, hair askew and cheeks flush with arousal. Best of all were those electric blue eyes, conducting an equal appraisal of Erik's body—studying the lines the firelight cast across his lean torso, his loose black trousers slung low on his hips. Charles forced a hard swallow, unable to believe that he finally had Erik here with him.

"Should I even bother to ask why you keep lotion in your desk?" Erik asked, jarring him from his thoughts as the taller man stopped in front of him, dropping the lotion next to him.

"It's not for what you think..usually," Charles conceded, watching Erik drop to his knees on either side of him, returning his weight to Charles' thighs (not that he could actually feel it). Erik couldn't tear his eyes from Charles' as he slid along the telepath's legs to push their eager erections back together, bringing much desired, much _needed_ pressure and friction. Charles craned his neck to instantly seek Erik's lips, hands scrambling against the rocking movements of the older man to pull him free from his briefs. Turning in the kiss, feeling Erik's undeterred lips settle to his neck with more sucking, nipping kisses, Charles unscrewed the jar of lotion, liberally coating his hand.

With his other hand, Charles freed himself, loving the brush of Erik's hardened want against his own. Not wanting to waste another minute, he wrapped his lotion slathered hand around them both, sliding smoothly along the hard, heated skin.

Erik's eyes sank shut with a groan, letting his head fall to rest against Charles' as the younger man continued to stroke them, swift, tight and wonderful. Charles wanted to drown in the motion of Erik's hips, longing but unable to match his movements. He slipped a lotion coated fingers between them, further applying pressure to the pulsing veins, lips any skin they found as they pressed together. Words dissolved into groans and whimpers, each finding a rhythm to lose themselves to each other. One more stroke, one more pull, one more thrust, one more breath—

The chord within Erik snapped, his back arching rigid as he spilled into Charles' hand, breath hitching in his chest as he braced against Charles. The telepath followed a stroke later, his groan of release swallowed by Erik's mouth. A deep, savoring kiss consumed them, Erik's hands rising to card through Charles' hair, loving him more than he would have thought possible.

If tomorrow never came, it would be too soon. If he never had to part from Charles, it would be too soon. He hated the sting of threatening tears in his eyes, wishing that everything was different. Wanting nothing more than to just be with this man until the end of his days. For here— here was the peace Erik had sought his whole life, and just now discovered.

Charles didn't care that his hand was sticky and slippery. He could sit on this couch all night in Erik's embrace and want nothing more. Kissing him now just further cemented everything Charles knew he felt, his heart already starting to ache with the knowledge that the cold light of dawn would change everything.

"Stay with me," Charles' voice was slow, content, tinged in euphoria, "if not always, then just for tonight. I want to have you at least once more in my bed before dawn brings about the return of Magneto."

"I would gladly stay in your bed every night." Erik's voice held the same note of content satiation.

"Then stay…God knows I want you to," Charles couldn't keep the pleading note from his voice, "but I know why you won't. It bloody frustrates me to hell that you would give all this up…but I can't say I'm any better." Erik pulled back, placing a gentle kiss to the tip of Charles' nose, looking down at the telepath with a wry smile.

"But with friends like us, who needs enemies?" Charles' lips quirked to a smile, leaning forward for a quick, chaste kiss.

"I love you, so much, Erik." Charles whispered against the other man's lips. "Perhaps we should go to bed, hmm? I knew it was late even before you showed up…."

"From my understanding, staying up late on Christmas Eve carries the risk of having Santa not show up." Erik loved watching an adorable smile warm his love's face in their close proximity.

"For all I know, it was Santa who dropped you off," Charles started, never wanting to let go of Erik's eyes, "you have been all I wanted."

"I'll have to tell Azazel that's his new nickname." A deep, amazingly happy laugh left Charles as he wrapped his arms around Erik in a tight hold, feeling Erik's arms encircle him in return.

For now, it didn't matter. Let the dawn bring about the return of their conflicting views and parted lives. But for now—this was their night. Their night to live and love. And pretend.

_Fin_

**Angsty? Yes. Fluffy? You bet! ...I told y'all I was a sucker and this seemed a fitting ending to me.  
><strong>

**Many heartfelt thanks to all who read, review & enjoyed the journey! Hope everyone has the Happiest of Holidays & New Year's!**

**Cheers!**

**MidnightBlast**


End file.
